Smokin' Nights

So, It's midnight. I've been working cleaning up the studio for hours, getting ready for another show. My spine is killing me, so I go outside to have a smoke. The cat is going wild, the dog next door, Bodi, is chasing a mother raccoon and I'm hearing squeak squeak squeak. Very unhappy babies on one side of a fence and mama on the other side running for dear life up the Baptist Church steps all the while I'm holding onto the dog collar and telling the mother she can come back now and I drop the matches...Some nights nothing goes quite right.

Why do I say yes to everything? Yes to a poetry recording in Sacramento and then a reading the second night. Yes to an art exhibit (sales allowed!!) in three weeks. Can this be done? I am not sure. But I say YES! because I never know how close Mistah Death is. It's just that simple. Heart meds, spine meds, Muse meds? Wouldn't that be nice to dial up the Muse and get lucky and write the best poem ever instead of drafting and re-drafting all night long, even if I do like it?
Good night.