10:02 a.m. This year has started out different. I see less people. I talk to less people. I walk around in my own life and feel closer to writing and my mind.
Sometimes it hurts me that I’ve sacrificed everything for poetry and poetry has given me so little security. And by poetry I mean the poetry world. Which often has very little to do with poetry.
But then I’ve also realized I just want to be happy. Which never concerned me before. Isn’t that crazy.
I’m reading here next week. Come, if you want.