it hits me. feel like i've been a piss-poor correspondent of late. but it's summer, feels like summer, temp. in the high 80s to low 90s. cricket-song, acetylene skies. and i'm thinking summer movies, crap you'd see at the drive-ins, the kind of films i love. and how does this relate to being a piss-poor correspondent? cuz, i feel expansive, want to talk to everyone. why not.

so i'm thinking of a series of open letters/postcards to poet-friends and post them here. they shall be extemporaneous, not given much to editing, and be in prose and verse. subjects will range quite a bit, and don't be surprised if you find a letter addressed to you, and we may never have corresponded. cuz that means i've been reading yr blog/website/ and esp. yr poems. i think all poets are brothers and sisters, my brothers and sisters, whether there be gaps in ages and temperament. and don't be surprised to find a few dead poets among the group, too.

we'll see how it goes. feel free to respond, or not. whether or no, the words hits us all.

peace