Read a poem by another poet written
on the same day:

Here's the guilt you gave me.

It is all too much to keep
up with. I have given
myself too many things
to care for. And here I
was always thinking
I was the selfish one.

A distant tree provides
food for thought.
A momentary visual
vacation.

I can get back to that
mental spot where as
a child I spent most of
my time.

Records, bedspread, shoes
low-pile carpet.

Not getting anywhere solid.
Always too aware of space.

So displaced, TV too large.
Family too consuming.
Sun, light, heat. I need
a storm.