Poetry

is difficult and I always postpone reading, thinking, or writing about it. As with theory and some novels. The reading gets done anyways, after excuses are spent. But the physical world is (obvious) much clearer and unavoidable. It can be beautiful as it was new years eve, in the woods of Port Charlotte, or a backyard view of the Gulf of Mexico another instant. Same as an instant seeing Caracas from the porch of a house in Santa Paula, staring down into the valley from that height, late afternoon into night.

I probably need utilitarian prose, basic signs, just the words in a plain style. Certain slownesses and books we struggle with. Florida highways can carry sadness quickly. Valued friendship and loss over a decade. And the realization of loss, how profound she can be. So, plainer words maybe. No se sabe. Pain speaks directly and clearly, sometimes mumbles.