I've had too much work, as the day job and the night job spread thought all my waking time. Writing has happened in snippets on subways, lunch walks, just before falling asleep--interstitial moments. I still walk to my nearby urban park where trees die and are replaced, the reflecting pool is covered in wood--becoming seats and platform for ping pong tables or roller bladers, balloons as large as VWs rise in the evening and by day tiny lights are strung along the crowns of trees. One day the park is an open air market for tiny cupcakes, the next NASA has brought tables of ideas and equipment... Time moves so visibly and change is constant...and my years as a writer and creator of crafted things is no longer feeling infinite. It is time to leave the underground, write and draw, and rekindle my own love of languages, visual and verbal.
Am rereading my Norton anthology of poetry, the oldies are great. And also downloading books of poetry from the eNYPL. Paper and screens, heart's meme.
Here is a drawing I'm doing for a book cover for Benu Press... I'm amazed they asked me to do the art, not the usual way I do covers. The arm needed to go...and I reworked it.
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