January 2, 2024

Slept hard through much of yesterday, confusing exhaustion for illness. 

Inspired by an announcement in email, I got together a chapbook of my riverside poems, those written in the last year at my picnic table beside the French Broad. Going through the files, I had to read some of them to remember what they were about, if they could be included. Twenty-eight pages.

Phone call interrupted an amazing dream. Some friends and I had, apparently, been time-traveling, and had been captured by ancient Mesopotamians. We thought we were in trouble until they asked us if we could chant Sumerian holy chants, and we listened hard and it turned out that we could. We chanted so well, adding our own flourishes, that we had become a pop phenomenon in ancient Sumer, where they could, somehow, project what we were singing in blue letters across the night sky.

Resolutions? Not to watch corrupt cop videos. They enrage me and make me hyper-vigilant. 

CK has died.