Last night I dreamed I was dancing with Robert Pinsky- and telling him Gerald Stern told me he (Pinsky) was a terrible dancer- Stern told me that, too, earlier in the dream. Go figure.
Maybe I should stop falling asleep with poetry books over my face.
There IS a poem germinating about all this- how could there not be?
Did I tell you how much I am enjoying the book The Fever Almanac by Kristy Bowen??
Some of these poems take little slices out of me, like an eerie biopsy.