It’s really unfortunate that writers are sort of forced to become self-promoting creeps these days because, a) no one else is going to do it for us (except [us for] each other), and b) the type of personality that is a writer, as opposed to more of a person who lives in the ‘real world’, isn’t necessarily the best person for self-promotion.”
— Ann Sterzinger
got two poems up on hobart
fajkwehtoiandsgmkjwpo3iavq avjkawepgoabwgnlaksd av awheofa aksldfgh woifhq;op3gnawjg
- Oh But, He is so Accomplished. And so Liked!
- And by extension…?
* * *
Pan is dad. Great Pan is dad.
* * **
Up and down the fractal
Nature is some kind of nature
Standing in the outward ray
We speak of ambitions
We men of the finer cloth
We men with homesickness in our blood
To fly into the sun behind the sun
Plan our return as the prodigal sons
For now splintered, here and not
Will be again