You can read them line by line, dollar by dollar, or throw the bottle against a wall and spend the feathers, or place the bottle on your shelf and admire the striations of money, which will spend, and the mark of a hand, which will live on past its mark and then not. Or you can imagine in the curled bills the phonemes at play against the discipline of the sonnet’s metrical grid. A poem that is bitter, or poem you imagine that is better than a poem could be. Money!
I kept having dreams that involved geese. I was being attacked or they were attacking me. There were geese skirmishes. There was one where they were all frozen and I was supposed to hit them with a sledgehammer. I was doing them some kind of… Read More
Shoot me an email if you want to come and I’ll let the hosts know. If you’re in Lafayette maybe we’ll car pool. This will be my first/last Midwest Pigafetta reading. The rest this year are all on the East Coast. Also, the other poets… Read More