The Poet is In.

#postaday Where does a poet punch in? Starbucks? The kitchen counter? The train station? The backyard hammock, while the bees and butterflies labor in nectar? Is it in bed, snuggled up to your neck, dear? These poets. How can one punch in when the mind is wrapped in rhyme 24/7, and it’s hell until it’s… Continue reading The Poet is In.