Dancing naked in the yard

i am going crazy
i can't do it anymore

writing
writing

i have quarantined myself in this split level house in the suburbs of cleveland to write my opus
i read short stories to get in the mood
i read books on writing to get in the mood
i drink a cup of coffee to get in the mood
i pace the periwinkle blue carpet in front of my laptop
my mac that is cracked and battered from 6 trips to india, it is sitting in the breakfast nook, on a small round table with off-white lace tablecloth. it's screen is open and stares at me with it's one giant unblinking eye
i am mesmerized by the computer screen
i pace in front of it
like a cobra hypnotising me
rattlesnake charmer
i will wrestle you to the floor and get some words out of you

i run naked in the midwestern backyard at night after everyone has gone to sleep
for luck
who brought the gypsy witch to mentor ohio?
the summer night air is warm and a bit humid
trees not fences separate the neighbors yards
i turn somersaults and dance to the music in my own head
there is a great deep ordinariness here
that has it's own holiness, like a cathedral
the sky is silver gray, i can't see any stars
even here there is light pollution
i am restless in this nest
i am banking on the restlessness turning into writing
i go to bed at 4am

i get up at 7:30am
i make a cup of coffee
i go back to the laptop

yes i continue writing formless things
a mass of clay that i can begin to shape at some point
can't see the horizon for the waves right now
in the middle of the ocean
i wanted a life raft
but got pushed out to sea (see)