Slogging on

I was just lying on the floor, trying to get my flash key inserted into the sole USB port on my office PC: you have to flip open a hinged cover and then feel around for the slot. Couldn't line it up without getting on the floor. Small openings, low interior hum from the big gray plastic box. I put my eye up to it: faint amber light inside. Like standing in a dark alley next to a warehouse late at night. Bugs batting at the sodium vapor lamp. Nothing here needs you.

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Is anyone familiar with Peter Waldor's work? We were very excited by a batch of poems he sent this spring, but--ack!--our contract crossed in the mail with his letter indicating most of what we wanted had been accepted elsewhere. I'm e-mailing him today. Hoping he has more on the level of this first batch.

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Energy level is still way down. If I had a pillow I'd nap on the floor.

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Daily poems for this week:

• Jack Gilbert, "The Revolution" (Monolithos)
• Betsy Sholl, "Back with the Quakers" (Late Psalm)
• Ruth Stone, "The Sperm and the Egg" (Simplicity)
• Thomas Lux, "Virgule" (New & Selected Poems)
• Matthew Rohrer, "incensation at the funeral" (A Hummock in the Malookas)

[photo: spent rhododendron, june 1st]