I have lived in the desert for nearly ten years after after living in a city all my life

The reason that I took this decision is still unclear to me as sometimes I miss people

There is a hippy commune about fifty miles away and a few times a year some of them check me out

But although this is done out of love I suspect that they know that I still have connections in the art world

They bring me paintings and sculptures

I am not fooled by their innocence

But they are nice people and are fun to have around

I used to be a poet and had a number of books published and was popular on the circuits

But I grew tired and retired to a miners shack to collect my thoughts

I have yet to collect them

My publishers contact me from time to time

I am still writing poetry but I am not as prolific as I once was as I see silent poetry everywhere

There is poetry in the quiet winds of the desert

There is poetry in its ever changing colours

I have no need to articulate this into words

But my publisher does not understand this or they choose not to

I am being pressured to return to the city and reconnect with my previous life

And sometimes during the plainer months I must say that I am tempted

But this longing does not last long and I soon ignore its advances

As although I am cut off from the city it often disturbs me

I am often interrupted by passing tourists or poetry freaks who are puzzled that a well known poet has chosen to live a Thoreau type of existence

They can be overwhelming but I treat these people with a kindness as they have taken the trouble to find me and the least that I can do is offer hospitality

I think that they see a romance in what I am doing

Occasionally a magazine will ask to do an interview and all I ask is that I see the finished article before publication as my city paranoia still haunts me

I am open to sharing my life but I do not want to be a curious exhibit because of my success as a poet

That is unfair

About a year ago I was visited by the cops as a body had been found near the highway

It appeared at first glances to have been a random homicide and they thought that a psycho might be on the loose as a couple of hippy girls had been murdered whilst hitching on the highway a few weeks previously

They suggested that I armed myself as they thought that I might be in danger but I did not buy a gun as I felt quite safe in my surroundings

 Nothing happened and the killer was finally apprehended when trying to rob a gas station

I am often asked if I will return to my previous life in the city and to be truthful I do not know the answer

People write of my reclusive nature but that is untrue as if my mother died or became unwell I would be on the first bus to Austin

I am not trapped in the desert I just live here quite simply

One day the desert might ask me to leave or then again it might share its poetry with me until the last second of my last day

I am living only for the present as the past has passed by and the future has yet to arrive