This morning I read a review of a Frank O'Hara compilation. I am awful tired of the top 10 poets and the deconstruction of their lives/work/drinking habits, etc. There are, apparently, no decent women except for the usual Bishop or Emily footnote. Women do better if we are a. crazy, b. suicidal, c. "write like a man (whatever that means), or d. some combination of the above.
And don't get me started about poetry readings, the small local kind. It is discouraging.
Ok, moving on. "The morning is bright and clear (and hot as hell)". We are in a bi-polar weather pattern; cold, expecting snow or 95 degrees. The lettuce doesn't have the good sense to bolt. Not yet anyway.