The inevitable.

Just as predicted, summer has moved out and turned in its keys.

Even the sky looks fall-ish lately, like it has something up its sleeve.

I'm teaching an intro to poetry writing class this semester, and I already love it. A while back I felt a little burned out on these classes, but then something happened. Not sure what that was, but I'm glad for it.

This week Verse Daily featured two poems from BOR 3. That made me super happy.

Two current book projects are feeling awfully real to me lately. Saint Monica has a cover (you can check it out on Goodreads!), and we're putting together the first volume of the Akron Series in Contemporary Poetics, titled The Monkey and the Wrench: Essays into Contemporary Poetics.

It's funny how a project can hang out on the back burner for a while, and then next thing you know it's boiling over. In a good way, of course.

I had to order all new business cards this week, since I am now a fancy Associate Professor.

I am still waiting for my special tiara.

Full disclosure.

Four more days of "summer."

23 pages of poems, not counting revisions.

I am, well, kind of surprised.

This summer was nothing like what I thought it would be.

Cruel Summer

You gave me some poems and now you're gone.

It sure doesn't feel like Fall on the outside.

Hidden metaphor du jour.

No, you tell me what it means.

I believe today (for the next few hours, at least) is day eleven of fifteen in the pocation.

I have written at least fifteen pages of poems this summer, and that's fine with me.

This summer isn't last summer, and vice versa.

I like some of the things I've written.

And that is all I can hope for, really.