In April, I write one poem per day and promise myself I will revise next month. May is National Revise-A-Whole-Lot-of-Crap Month. I find myself fulfilling the "sits at Apple laptop in coffee shop listening to Tom Waits and writing unrhyming verse about detectives" cliche quite a lot.
In the meantime, I break a wedding gift of my mother's while indulging in manic housecleaning. She asks me to write a poem about it. I oblige.
Thanks to the kindness of a friend with a spare bedroom, I am moving downtown before I find myself stuck with three dozen poems about broken glass.
Friday, April 10, 2009
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