My writings don’t usually seem all that good to me soon after I’ve made them. I didn’t like reading my McKuen erasures that much until the last year or so, and I can’t just sit down and make something I’ll appreciate right away — or at least that’s not likely (and the few times I’ve done that — as with the “Split My Thumb” poem, maybe — the poem turns out to be not all that interesting in the long term — it’s too straightforward).
I hear dog or dogs barking, maybe the condo dogs on their balconies barking at a passer-buy. A dude (an older dude) with a golden retrievo was walking past [a neighbor’s] house last night (well, what was that, maybe 6:45 p.m.?) and Sam and I were across the street because we almost never walk the sidewalk past [this neighbor’s], because of [their dog B.], his electric fence comes up to sidewalk, and he crossed over that invisible boundary, onto the sidewalk, to get to golden. No fight that I saw, though [neighbor-adults] were outside and yelled and B. seemed to leave the golden alone for the remainder of its pass-by.
[From journal of Mon., 5 Sept. 2022, J366, page 122]
MonkeyMoonMachine 