NPM (sorta) Fail

You guys. April is over, so f%*& poetry. Isn't that just the way?

Seriously though, I didn't adhere as strictly as I would have liked to the poem-a-day prescription, but I was surprised by how much I was able to write, without the aid of daily prompts (for the most part). And, considering I moved in the middle of it, and was without home internet for the last couple weeks of it...not bad, friends, not bad!

In any case, it's not good to force it. You could drop an o-ring or something.

I'm reading this sorta biography of Frank O'Hara written by Joe LeSueur. Ben assures me that his cattiness is beyond compare, which has proven right thus far. It's not off-putting, oddly enough. It's great, I feel like a literary fag hag (dislike that term, but LeSueur used it so it's okay! Right?!). Although, he warned that it winds up being more a Joe LeSueur memoir than anything and O'Hara is this peripheral character. Thus far, I liken it to those exercise poems you write and then look back at the first few lines and realize that while they were an entry into the poem, they really have little to nothing to do with the rest and they look sort of out of place and spring-boardy. Yeah.

I might try and write myself a lunch poem today. Just because.