November 25, 2020

I’m appalled to discover I wrote a book-length manuscript of poetry in 2020. How is this possible? I swear I spent the year hiding in bed or crushed in a chair staring blankly at the pages of one unread book or another. Frankly, I feel a little queasy that this shitshow year has been so productive for me.


meta writing Vessels


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Central Park A late entry to the Bookmark project. I pulled a book off the shelf just now and stumbled on this: (Original series here, with subsequent
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Last Next Last, next. 72: United States of Letterpress (Starshaped Press) 73: Nat’l Parks (Denali)