I’m listening to Stairway To Heaven as I write this, which you know makes it more important.

Really, do get a copy of COLD SKIN, the novel mentioned in my last two posts. B had just read it and was awed as well. Now I’ll pass it on to W, who, I know, will feel the same way.

Also, check out my friend Jesse Ball’s poem in the new Boston Review. It’s really a good one. Someone gets “menaced with my little knife.”

I’m trying, really hard, to take a little break from thinking too much about poetry this weekend. I overdid it last week, editing a series of reviews, sending out poems and chapbooks, soliciting poems. Just too much. I’m out of mojo. And the cisterns from which writing might come are totally empty, which is, of course, rather depressing. Normal, given the circumstances, but depressing. Hopefully, with a little break, they’ll refill.

Doing some holiday shopping as well, and making wedding plans. Some stressful stuff.