Rooms - What a rampart are these police that are not able to be seen. Government shutdown. Judgement rooms, court volume. People fill them making volume, getting into it. Most of the readings were regarding The Southern Poetry Anthology, volume VI of a state by state shakeup of known, teaching voices. A regional satellite, the beginnings of the shapes in any place are the range, pool, weight, is the limit in their being seen. /
Animals - Two stories with large cats a day apart. "What I was would not work for them all..." is how James Dickey's "Encounter In the Cage Country" starts. His son, Christopher ( though the son of a writer maybe develops a terrible coat from the almost necessary mention of the exact person previous to him ), read his father's poetry, that intimate filial curious sheet between time, and do them amazingly. If to draw from the events a priority thing, this one. Jeff Hardin makes a Mitch Hedberg joke. He grew on me, made me want to vote, think about the specific things under my control that I can improve. / Effects - Deborah Bernhardt read to still crowds, spearing, avenued, content in burst ( her hemistitches pulse the creature content, stretch of that which volume is close to ), tonality with indeterminate range, "...direction of our faces..." / she read from Echolaliaand from Driftology. Jan LaPerlereads, and her fear, stated and kept, propels her work, trajectory like testimony, testimony, the good poetries have something testimonial. And, I think, she has four hearts or one four times the size or forty or inside her poems. More in than what they surround. Tyler Millsread, more challenge is with her work, delightful, and graceful, serene, too, though like a Ken Burns movie. Lyn Hejinianan. Somewhere in her reading I obsess the word 'random: randomly randoming randomed, randoms...' / I text a friend: 'make yr poem the awe pod'. 'Kiss-poems.' 'How'd you hurt your arm?' Got an earbud caught in a bench, a man has a metal tool, he spreads the wood to free it. I was thinking about the entrance of the earbud and less its exit at the moment, but now I think of the last part. I think he was a poet, Keith Flynn. I wanted to think about Rimbaud and Verlaine, wrists.