It's very California, but the mood of late rain and waiting seems just right now here in Oregon.
We have felt neurotic ourselves!
An excerpt from "Psychoanalysis: An Elegy" by Jack Spicer.
What are you thinking?(Heat wave article here.)
I think that I would like to write a poem that is slow as a summer
As slow getting started
As 4th of July somewhere around the middle of the second stanza
After a lot of unusual rain
California seems long in the summer.
I would like to write a poem as long as California
And as slow as a summer.
Do you get me, Doctor? It would have to be as slow
As the very tip of summer.
As slow as the summer seems
On a hot day drinking beer outside Riverside
Or standing in the middle of a white-hot road
Between Bakersfield and Hell
Waiting for Santa Claus.