Every morning I feed a piece of blank paper into my Wedgefield 200 manual typewriter.

I type the date, I confidently slide the carriage to the right and I begin typing whatever is there to be typed. No stopping – no going back.

I call them “Morning Poems,” because I’m obviously not overburdened by a need for a more clever name. I don’t know all that much about poetry, but I know that I love the click-clack sound of my typewriter, so every morning I use “poetry” as an excuse to indulge myself.

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I suppose I could get just as much aural satisfaction from clanking around in the silverware drawer for a few minutes every day, but that would be unfair to you, the poetry lover.

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1/14/00

I am the God of Distraction

I can make anything happen to prevent your creative work

I Am All Powerful, Fear Me

For I make the phone ring, the door knock, the wife beckon

Tremble before my might, Shudder at my lunch bell

Bow down before my fearsome power to fill your bladder

That need for a snack, that’s me

Than swiveling of the neck between sentences …

Some of my finest work yet

You shall learn My Name well

And be forced to doodle it endlessly

I am the God of Distraction

Bow before me, then go make yourself some lunch

1/7/00

There is a Zen saying that goes something like:

“Whatever you need next is within reach of where you now sit.”

As I sit here, I can reach my cup of tea, the toenail clippers, a roll of toilet paper, a stack of papers to be filed

A book of restaurant matches, a letter opener

The computer mouse (but the “on” button is too far, unless I use my toe)

A small dictionary, a harmonica, a book on how to play slide guitar

A mechanical pencil, 5 floppy disks and almost

Almost – if I scoot my chair forward – the phone

Of course, scooting the chair gives the concept whole new meanings

Had the Zen masters of old had rolling office chairs

How much different would their teachings have been?

Substantially, I think

Especially if their chairs provided the awesome lumbar support that mine does

9/20/99

Yesterday was brimming with potential

I could have changed the world with just

A few well-placed phone calls

Could have righted wrongs

Done a turn for the greater good

But instead I masturbated three or four times

I honestly lost count

Still, it was a good day

3/12/00

So what if I’m driven by Fear?

Everyone needs a chauffeur, and Fear is a great one

He picks me up at seven a.m. every morning and reminds me

Of what I didn’t accomplish the day before

He has a well-stocked bar in the back of the Fearmobile

He swerves through traffic like a madman, afraid of nothing

And when he gets pulled over he gives it right back to the cop

Nothing ever gets done, of course, unless you count

The gradual decay of stomach lining

But it sure beats doing all the driving yourself

2/6/00

My idea was to merely write “Nothing” on the page and be done with it

It would be so arty and deep

It would be so something-ist, maybe an artistic “ist”

That hasn’t been done yet

But away I go, how can I stop now?

Maybe tomorrow I will write a clever one-word poem

That will sum it all up

But for today I’m stumped, I’m totally full of words

2/5/00

FLOYD’S AFFIRMATIONS

I, Floyd, am a competent and well-paid plumber

I, Floyd, am a sought after and oft-referred plumber

I, Floyd, am a passionate, dedicated plumber

I, Floyd, am a loyal Elk

I, Floyd, am a clear vessel for more plumbing jobs

I, Floyd, am a patient and supportive father

I, Floyd, am a calm and reliable problem solver

I, Floyd, am the best plumber in the Universe

I, Floyd, am available for the best plumbing gigs in the state, world

I, Floyd, am a competent and well-paid plumber