I heard Brenda say on the phone,
“He writes.” I don’t know who
she was talking to. But that sums it up.
Nothing happens to it.
What would happen?
Why would anything happen?
The doing of it is enough.
I reach a coterie of readers.
A cult. I am a cult writer.
It doesn’t make me a bad person.
Just a poor provider.
Van Gogh was a poor provider.
Gauguin was a poor provider.
Mozart was a poor provider.
He was buried in potter’s field.
He didn’t have a pot to piss in.
Have you seen the movie Amadeus?