Monday, March 8, 2010
Rejection letters, a sick dog, mud, a grey sky. Boys vanished into the land of school. Two mourning doves hogging the empty feeder. Blake splayed open on my desk, arguing. A depressed sense of wonder. "Depressed" means "pressed down." "Melancholy" is a more beautiful word for "bile." Anyway, I am not really gloomy. More, I'm separated from myself. Like taking a helicopter photograph of the inside of my head.