I can't

I don't trust myself. My trust is dangerously in other places--some traditional, some not so much. Tonight, I'm waiting for a first line. I trust my first lines. They usually launch genius--or at the very least, passable work. I don't have a first line right now. I have a list of things I need to do, a post-it note covered book, and a large Diet Coke suffering from too much ice, but no first line.

I'm wondering why I chose Li-Young Lee. Other than that a treatment of the tradition of the sacred in contemporary American poetry would seem incomplete without him. His poetry is beautiful--mind-numbingly so. Maybe that's why this first line seems impossible right now.

Lee reminds me of Trent. So does England, pink gerbera daisies, speedos, and Riki Tiki Tavi. And wings, although I'm moving from angels to birds.

I've decided to not go to grad school next year. I decided this before I heard from Ohio, and I asked them to take me off their waiting list.

I don't know if I can do this.