Agreed!

“I don’t know of any writer who doesn’t look back at their earlier books and think:  can we just shred them? You know, can we go door to door and collect them and shred them?”

—David Sedaris, to Bill Maher, on Real Time, HBO, 2023 March 24th

Awake’ish

my brain —
desiccating
deprived
of sleep
pulsating
too much
life today —

is

as i lay
here in bed
becoming its
own creature
trying to crawl
out of my head —

it throbs away
seconds ticking
memory flashes
of today tocking —

twelve o-three
twelve twenty
one eleven
two seventeen
three something —

fickle
in my mind
restless
the thoughts
runaway
hobos
on a train
down the tracks
to four o’clock —

how did Byron
how the F
did Shelley
write masterpieces
at such young ages
when it has taken
me 36 years
just to get out
three good poems
and entire reams
of bad ones —

how is it that
i wrote better
in my teens
in my early 20s
than i ever have
in middle age
and why won’t that
come back to me? —

oh my brain!
is it purring
or is that the cat?
these thoughts! —

why does
the inevitable creep
ever closer to me?
not crawl
but threaten
overpower
reach over me
horrific shadows
surrounding me
hovering
swallowing
with immensity
of darkness —

insomnia is
a sickness
and i am so sick —

in waking hours
of sunlight
the inevitable
is invisible
but during
wakeful nights
it suffocates
still invisible
but it is all
that i can see —

oh comfort please
i beg of you
curl up with me —

brain throbbing
wanting throbbing
future throbbing —
pink, rubbery, firm
pressing against
my thoughts —
all it takes
is one big fear
to sit on my mind
for all the air
of the future
to explode
with a bang
and seep out
with a muffle
leaving me
empty —

isn’t it interesting
that we can die
from too much of something
that we can die
from lack of something
for want of something
i could die
of lacking sleep
i could die
from too much
passion for life
they are intertwined
within me, destiny —

images or omens
flash through my mind
a watercolor painting
all the colors shades of black —

i have no regrets
in my past
all my regrets
are in the future —

the tree outside my window
is rapidly growing leaves
from bare winter
to verdant spring
but all shades of green
are the same with
night’s eyes closed —

i may as well
bring the typewriter
into bed with me
and let it sing
me a lullaby:
clack click clack
once upon a time
happily ever after
that is all she wrote
springtime mayday
brain overboard —

the cold chatters
in my teeth
warmth boils over
in my brain
and it helps me
feel better to say
the same over and
over in every refrain —

i cannot sleep
the loudness
of springtime
awakening
is deafening
even in the middle
of the night —

oh! it is two a.m.
oh two hundred
oh two oh oh
oh please
let me sleep tonight —

as i turn over
flip-flopping sides
my brain is turned
from black to white
it tosses a ball
playing ping pong
bouncing, falling
flailing seconds
minutes hours ticking
water dripping
from the faucet
into the sink
time drips out of
my leaky head
please let me sleep —

Terri Guillemets

written while teetering on the brink of sleep, from 00:57  to 02:13, and unedited excepting dashes

Now, in a Later Spring

Once, long ago, I heard an old man say,
      “Two pounds of sorrow is the price you pay
      For every pound of bliss.”
But I was young and such a reckoning
      Seemed far too steep; now, in a later spring,
      I’d gladly offer far, far more than this.

—Alice Mackenzie Swaim, “Now, in a Later Spring,” Crickets Are Crying Autumn, 1960

Weekly feels

Saturday:

Sunday:

Monday:

Tuesday:

Wednesday:

Thursday:

Friday:

Images in the public domain, modified t.g.
• Saturday — Zandrie by Marian Edwards Richards, 1909, illustration by Harriet Roosevelt Richards, published by The Century Co., contributed by New York Public Library, digitized by Google Books, books.google.com
• Sunday — Happy Days by Oliver Herford, 1917, illustrated by John Cecil Clay, published by Mitchell Kennerley, Internet Archive, contributed by University of California Libraries, digitizing sponsor Microsoft, archive.org
• Monday — Wellcome Collection. ‘A young woman of Vienna who died of cholera, depicted four hours before death.’ Coloured stipple engraving, c.1831. wellcomecollection.org
• Tuesday — Happy Days by Oliver Herford, 1917, illustrated by John Cecil Clay, published by Mitchell Kennerley, Internet Archive, contributed by University of California Libraries, digitizing sponsor Microsoft, archive.org
• Wednesday — I got this from an old book years ago but haven’t yet been able to find my notes with the source; oops.
• Thursday — Woman in Sacred Song, compiled and edited by Eva Munson Smith, 1888 edition, published by Arthur E. Whitney, digitized by Google Books, books.google.com
• Friday — Wellcome Collection. ‘Skeletons dancing.’ Etching by R. Stamper after Christopher Sharp. 1700s. wellcomecollection.org