Sunday, February 24, 2008


I am angry about last night's reading. Twelve people showed up to see me read, but didn't. Three called me after I read to see if they should still come to see me read. Others were mad about me making a big deal about showing up on time and not starting on time. I am not going to open anymore.

On the other hand, people I didn't know shook my hand and told me I was the best thing they'd seen at BRL. Other people who I thought didn't like me were crazy about my work and my reading of it.

I read mostly prose.

It's been a while since I have thanked my friends. I truly count on you. You make me feel unworthy of your support and loyalty. Thanks for always coming out even when I am shitty. You can't win them all, but you make me feel like I do.
I'd like to name you all, but I am afraid I might miss someone this early in the morning, and I think you know if I am talking to you.
I'm not in a an MFA program. I have never taken a how-to-write poetry class, which are all how-to-write-like-Ezra-Pound classes. I don't have many poetry "peers," and I have no poetic support from the machine. My people are the people who I turn on to poetry. People who aren't poets are the important ones . You really, without sarcasm please, are the most important thing about poetry without even knowing it. You are the ones who prove that poetry still has an audience.

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