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July 1974

The gas tank is leaking but it’s raining, so I’m

putting off fixing it again,

and there’s that letter I promised myself I’d

write, but how many ways do you

decorate the same feelings with words,

and my belly is rebelling against that forced march

of pizza upon it last night,

and being with friends and being alone come to seem

like different sides of the

same coin,

and I’m drinking too much coffee,

and worrying about money, and moving, and the

incompletion that I feel,

and God works in wondrous ways.