I am in here.
you spend Saturday night eating old pizza and recording Rush Hour 2 from the satellite. I should be reading Tolstoy. I should be reading Dostoevsky. I should be reading Shakespeare. Or at least Agatha Christie, don’t you think?
Nobody tells you how to go about the actual daily life of a poet. I had lazily always figured it would “just happen,” and never gave it much thought. So I take a stab at it… Read Louise Glück’s Meadowlands and the new Nikki Giovanni collection, and bought a plain old large notebook, of the … Continue reading reading
Fluffy the Laptop and I have stopped in at Zip’s Café on our way home from the dentist’s office. I have to get another crown, and I am cheering myself up at the prospect. It never occurred to me you could get a fracture in your tooth. But this is silly talk. In a moment, … Continue reading reading at the bar
Right now, I’m sitting at the coffee-house half a block away from where my son first lost faith in me as Omniscient Parent. We were sitting in the old green Jeep, on our way to somewhere, waiting at the traffic light, when he asked me a question about chemistry for his science class — he … Continue reading memory street
white pebble 