The formal articulation of so much mental garbage does tend to leave me thinking I'm being rather silly. I mean, you'd think that at my age I would remember that the best solution to being unproductive/unfulfilled/unexcited is just to get on with it.
A dream this morning, clearly grown from my concerns of the past weeks: something about being disastrously late with homework... which is perhaps the truth about my life. And, as I bark at my postgraduate and senior students and get them to outdo themselves by simply insisting that they make it to the deadline and do the best they can, clearly I need to do some of that for myself....
Next (above) post: one of my favorites of my own poems. Hey, it won an award (from a gay newspaper in San Francisco, the Sentinel, some time in the early 1990s, when poetry about AIDS and mourning was especially common). Anyway: I like it.
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