Upon making the discovery that my reading of Hurston, Munro and others only served to make me crawl back under the covers to read, it seems I stubbornly embarked upon the path of poetry instead of stopping to look about and replenish supplies to write. I suppose I was counting on the readers, the poets, friends and foes, my old English Professor, even the poor misled Googlers to politely put an end to my misdirected anguish.
But then, I’ve made a fool of myself before, and most of you I’ll never need to look directly in the eye, and with those I must I shall feign madness.
So rest easy, and you need not avoid my site. I at last remembered the training of the classroom and its purpose and have wisely muzzled myself. No more poems.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology