news & weather

was it this morning i started the day reading the diary of james schuyler?

or was it this morning that i began double impact by kevin opstedal & michael price?

how do the days go anyway?

why do these days blur into fiction but felt like fact?

why make it up as we go if along we go is not what we want to do?

buoyed by the hard existence & sublime fact of schuyler's poetry what now & where to go next?

henceforth do these memories of reading fold into these transitions of life or these transmissions?