Everything happens all the time, sometimes
simultaneously. I’m just now reading a
poem by George Stanley about him
huddling outside of his apartment with
his neighbors (granted, at 5:30 in the
morning), just to get away from the
noise of the fire alarm in his apartment
building – “strangers and no structure” –
he seems to be writing with a hangover,
and then I misread “sleek & slender
selves” as “sleek & slender elves” –
well, it is almost Christmas. I mean it’s
December. Or at least May, when I am
back ON with You-Know-Who. I wish I
could remember exactly how things went
at Mel’s after watching X Men (he was
45 minutes late!). But as I was spilling
my very soul out to him over a grilled
cheese sandwich (and his Oreo milkshake?)
I do most clearly and gleefully recall
that I saw his eyes mist over.
