Sunny and windy, like in the mountains. It's all Whitman's fault. The sun and wind are not Whitman's fault, if sun and wind are faults at all, but I just wanted to blame Whitman today. For nothing. No reason. Tomorrow I might blame Emily.
But what about Don Imus? Everyone's blaming him. What a nauseous debate. Free speech freaks have to cringe. Off to satellite radio for you, dude. You don't have to wear your hair there.
No one is saying we're free and clear of snow yet, but do we have to concern ourselves with every precious blade of steroidal grass in Jacobs Field?
Have begun my thesis--became official yesterday--and hope to graduate this time next spring. Congrats to fellow poets who are first out of the gate in the NEOMFA program: Jessica Jewell, Jill Riga, and Satya Palaparty.
Am in final throes of saying goodbye to Clark Avenue, where I did time for 20 years. As B said, "You don't have to be the ambassador of the sad anymore."
Do what I say, don't do what I do.
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