The Fuzz song makes me think of Savanna; Ty Segall and Savanna blaring in my ears. I'm writing to the music again like I used to do. It feels good. There was a feeling of the glow only a few minutes ago, that full body insanity when my fingers itch for a pencil, gripping and tapping and stretching and popping.
I wrote once after a long hiatus that I needed to write again or I was going to explode; that kind of glow, my hair stood on end. They're all at attention now on my arm, I can see them listening on my leg because it's hot outside in summer Spain.
I just left Madrid. I was in Andalusia in the morning, I woke up in Seville. Tonight I'll rest my head in Paris again.
*****
The shadows of the
lines running beside
the train flick back
and forth across my
pages like windshield-
wipers as gold fields
and patches of purple
fly by outside.
It's because they're
not totally taught.
I wonder what they're
wiping away.
I hope it's thee
anxiety.
