It's that time. It's been going.
I have been going. And going. Thank you Slash Pine Festival for letting me read. For introducing me to new people who also happen to write poems. For your book table where I spent more than I made. And thanks, also, to If Not For Kidnap, in Portland, and its beautiful hosts for hosting me, and The Tumblers and their guitars, and the people from Boise who skyped in. Reading there was a great joy.
Now it's April. And if I see that it's "the cruelest month" in one more blog...gah...
Anyway... I've written a poem a day for the month of April for the last 3 years and this year I am doing it again. Sort of.
I'm writing fragments. Everyday. Sometimes just one. Sometimes multiple. In a notebook.
Usually, I do NaPoWriMo publicly. On this blog.
Usually, I write poems, whole.
Now, fragments. I think it's a product of the way I'm existing in time.
And that time is spent always going from one place to another.
My space is in motion.
I am also preparing to prepare for STP-- otherwise known as Seattle to Portland-- a long, long bike ride. Or, at least, that's a long bike ride for me. Now I'm preparing to regularly bike 2 hrs a day. And then even longer bike rides on the weekend. I'm most definitely not in shape for this.
Most definitely not.
But I'm looking forward to that shapeliness.