06:54. After 8 miles.

Now in daddy mode. Challenging self today. If it’s written, it does. So keep in head, keep unsaid but internally written and read. Need to move some money around, for my businesses. Never touch it. Today, DO NOT eat in field. Do. Not. Rather, find a coffee shop and press toward aim. Don’t say “goal”. Never say that word. Can feel the 4am rise and run after, already. Will work through it. Work through it and follow through, through the follow, any nay-saying goblin following me, and past any hope for getting through. Seeing your book finished, collection of verses and poems, rhythmic pieces and freewrites…. finally getting out of SRJC and lecturing on own.

Kids start to bicker and argue over the rules of whatever game they’re playing. “Trouble” it’s called, possibly. We played it in the hotel, last year after being temporarily repositioned from the fires and house repair. Kids lose interest in it. Now want breakfast. Feeling more tired. The marathon’s closer. Closer. Could I do 26.2? Quite sure I could attain those numbers and in a time mitt that I see fit.

Downstairs now. Babies eating Cheerios dry from bowl, Jackie making a loud stand to share with his little sister. Blanket over both little beats. Me on floor. Think about work today but then think about something else like having my poems read in Spain, Paris, the Fillmore, New York, ‘course. Only possibilities in circulation mental but not wanting possibilities or dreams, anymore. Just getting everything seen in story or hope for. No more hoping, in put into morning’s thesis here on floor, sipping coffee, Jackie asking me when I woke up, exactly. “Did you wake up at 5:43 to go run, Dada?” Told him no, that I was up at 4 and went straight to gym to run and stay healthy for my family. His attention went back to show, this show of clay or wooden characters from the 70s. Think I’ve viewed this before. Don’t know.

I raise head with childish intermittence and see animals running I snow, then back down to page, or screen. Writing on phone. Or blogging on phone. I am a blogger. Guess that’s me, but not so plainly or directly.

In car. Waiting for window.

Now at work. Office dark. No lights and I like the nightness to the floor. Need more coffee. Need do something. Imagining this is my office, and all I have to do is what I have to do… What do you have to do. See everything as poetic. See everything as a propellant and not a block.

Early. People aren’t ready for day. But you are. You’re ready to devour everything that’s presented to you. For you. All in your pages, time, beat.

You make coffee. In a specific room. Coffee’s better from this machine. No disputes. Waiting…. there it is.

What do you want. What are you writing… what do you see? How do you want the day to be motioned– Didn’t ask, actually. Just actuate. Write, create, narrate.


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