good morning, america!

"Don't let me hear you say life's taking you nowhere, Angel."

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The new job has me waking early even on days when I don't have to go there until 11. Like today.

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Lots of minor quibbling in the blogworld the past day or two. Maybe it's my head injury, but I'd like to point out that Mr. Mister is an excellent poet, contrary to what a certain plastic poet's sycophant would like us to believe. Google him.

And as a critic. Well, let's just say this: he's honest. He says what he believes. Like William Logan. Difference is that Logan is an awful poet.


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Office girls continue to harrass me, albeit a bit more mildly.

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The blurbage for my book is up at the Pilot Books site, which I don't believe is live yet. The "ad copy," as it were describes it as the first installment of my "ambitious 81 poems project" and that it's about the dissolution of a relationship. Which I guess it is. It is. In part. There's more going on. And when I began the series it was a futile attempt at proving myself to one whom I loved but who no longer loved me. And I lopped off 19 limbs from the promised 100. I broke my promise. I wrote 35. Kept 27. That means I have all Fall and Winter to write the next 54.

I think I can do it.

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I'm allowed.

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Have I mentioned that Matt Hart's "Sonnet" is the best Matt Hart poem I've ever read? It is.

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Time for coffee. More after coffee.