Kidney story. Thoughts. Muncie. Poem.

I started on a story that's told from the perspective of a kidney. It's in a cooler awaiting to be transplanted into a new body. Exciting.

Sometimes I tell myself that thinking is more important than writing. But that's only sometimes. Right now, I think that thought is total bull shit.

I'll be in Muncie tomorrow evening after I'm done working to visit a friend that's getting ready to move to Germany. I'll miss her.

Here's a poem:

There is a ghost from November

burnt into tan grass.

Like the outline of a lake

seen from an airplane, 

its shores are naked 

from tide.

Overturned row boat, fish scales

bugs and boot prints filled with water.

It's a ghost from November

that's a ghost because of

what's there.