Not a luxury

Feeling pretty much human again. Don't get norovirus, people.

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Time to get the book manuscript back out and start again from the inside out, I think. I still believe in it, but I'm not sure it is wearing its best suit of clothes just yet.

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Read these poems. I'm not kidding, really. Go do it now. I'll be right here waiting.

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Good news from the Writers' Center up in Indianapolis -- they have found ways to continue on with some of their programming despite serious budget setbacks. These are tough times for the arts, but I think there are enough of us out here who understand that the arts are essential, and I think we'll get through these next few years. It'll be tough, but if anyone can make something fabulous out of not very much, it's poets. Right?

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Speaking of "not very much," I am so sorry that I watched American Idol this week. That's two hours of my life I will never get back. I blame certain of you bloggers for getting me hooked on this atrocity. Ahem.

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There are twenty-seven bones in the human hand. It takes every bone and every muscle in the human body, and every ounce of breath, to make a single moment of music, to bend a slender steel string and hold that note.

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My poem "Relax with Song of the Whales" is now up at Sea Stories! This is a very, very cool online journal which I always enjoy reading. The editors do a great job of creating something that explores a particular theme while consistently selecting interesting work. I haven't yet had a chance to explore this particular issue, but I'm looking forward to it.