Currently reading Michael Burkard's Envelope of Night: Selected and Uncollected Poems, 1966-1990. Really enjoying all the donkeys and fire. I would, of course. Also, the whisper and volume, same time.
I'm writing tons and working tons--teaching drawing and (as I said above) rolling paint. Good thing I have a Master's degree. Otherwise, I probably couldn't have gotten this job. What are you doing? I'd love to know. That is, if you even exist at all. You do exist, don't you?