This morning I woke up to the dull roar of something.
Was it the rain? The wind? A helicopter?
I’ll never know because now it’s gone.
The early morning city wakes before dawn.
Slowly.
The paper people come down the street.
First only the one.
Then all of them – to your work – to your place.
Hurry. Hurry. Get to where you belong.
Poetry, creative writing, fiction, stories.
Telling stories that should be true.
Or not.
Inspiration is 90 percent perspiration.
That’s why creative people need to use a good deodorant.
I woke to the smell of sagebrush and dirt.
Bill woke to the warmth of her neck.
No one else was awake so he drifted off again.
Later Bill leaped with joy. Then ran around in circles as fast as he could.
What would I do if I wasn’t doing this?
What will I do when I’m not doing this?
After I give it all away (which I inevitably will)
Then what will I have left?
Only me.
We enter this world alone
We leave this world alone
If we are lucky some nice people are around to say hello and goodbye
If you could have or do or see – anything, what would it be?
I woke to the smell of pine trees and water.
The dull roar of the river.
Fish sleeping in place – facing upstream always, so they can stay in one place and breathe.
I woke to the smell of a bakery, cinnamon and coffee.
The sound of early morning trucks and banging of cans.
I woke to the smell of stale beer and smoke.
I woke to the smell of vomit and piss.
I woke to the smell of diesel and gasoline.
I woke to the smell of a campfire and horses.
I woke to the smell of death, burnt bodies and blood.
Fear and pain.
I woke to the smell of ink and paper.
I woke to the smell of warm water and detergent, floor wax and cleaning solutions.
I woke to the smell of rocks and sand.
I woke to the smell of grass and sheep, rain is coming.
I woke to the smell of her hair, her face and linen.
I woke to the smell of metal and oil, machines, electricity.
I woke to the smell of lightning.
I woke to the smell of newly cut wood.
I woke to the smell of bacon frying.
I woke to the smell of wet concrete
I woke to the smell of a tent
I woke to the smell of a skunk
I woke to the smell of concrete and steel, a commode in the corner.
And hundreds of men on either side.
I woke to the smell of the ocean and the steady hum of the shaft as the ship moved through the deep water.
I woke to the smell of moss.
As I realized where I was, I thought to myself, “I need to clean my room more often.”
