Massaging a couple of manuscripts. Reading FOUR books of poetry, which I plan to write reviews on. I even wrote a new poem today, based on a ridiculous 1937 western called "Bucky Follows a Cold Trail." Planning on wading back into a sort of amorphous project I started this spring to write poetry as a form of neurological experimentation.
It all feels good. Hopefully, I will keep it up, and not be sucked back down into the non POEM ZONE, which though it may furnish the fallow ground that permits the poems to eventually shoot up, so often feels like giving up.