“I watched my country turn into
a coast-to-coast strip mall
and I cried out in a song:
if we could do all that in thirty years,
then please tell me you all –
why does good change take so long?
Why does the color of your skin
or who you choose to love
still lead to such anger and pain?
And why do I think it’s any help
for me to still dream of
playing the poet game?”

in the song i just quoted, “the poet game” by greg brown, involves remembering in colorful detail and basking in nostalgia. prophetic nostalgia. it popped up on the iPod while Thom and i were out walking. i realized then that i’m not actually being as self-indulgent as i assumed. perhaps i’m following some paths tread before?

i have before me a task again of writing for George some text for an acappella for some workshop in California. this will be my third collaboration with the music man, and i’m both excited and intimidated because i fear that i actually have not a lot to offer in the poet game.

but before i get there i’m settling down into the couch with a fancy beer and prepping to read a novel by james baldwin who is my momentary self-appointed patron saint of my future career in words. so perhaps.