whole lotta nothing
I waited all day to get here, through children, neighbors, lunch
with my wife, a short nap
The older I grow the less time I have, and the more
distractions to take me away
I wonder, before all the kids, and the wife, the ever-visiting
friends, what did I do with all of my
time?
well, here I am, finally
with nothing to say
nothing to do
I scrape the tar out of my pipe and smoke it
tastes like hell but it eases my mind
across the room lay two new cigar-box guitars
made by my father
I plan on writing and recording an album with those two and
an old toy Telleno, along with one of
my babies’ toy pianos, just as soon as I finish the
currently ongoing album project
yeah, music, recording, writing: I’m a professional amateur
living in low-fidelity chaos
here I am, looking at a lampshade I once painted, inside is a
glowing blue lightbulb; I painted
a lampshade at some point in my life, and installed a blue
lightbulb
looking into those paintstrokes, thinking back, I remember my
wife helped me with that lamp
there’s another lamp over there across the room, with no shade
or bulb, just bare, a socket on a stem
casting a shadow on the white-plaster wall
I guess I would need to focus on the poem structure, and the
form; I hardly know now what is a poem,
and the same with the novels, whatever they are, and the
songs, the guitar albums
all around me are stacks of printed and folded paper, printers
and computer parts, cables, from the
last time I believed I could forever mass-produce my written
works for all the people of the world
it’s amazing how much I’ve sat here, daydreaming, typing out
the occasional uniquely-worded thought
Tags: books, Joseph Greenwood, Pipe Etchings, by Joseph Greenwood
