I'm playing mandolin tonight and driving home tomorrow, but first the first poem of mine to be published, long ago in The Louisville Review:
Going Down with All Hands
The stewards didn't know they were sinking.
They murmured, "May I offer you a sandwich?"
They didn't know they were sinking.
The water was at the promenade deck.
Only radicals got in the lifeboats.
They didn't like the sandwiches.
No one liked the radicals.
No one could tell they were sinking.
They all sank at the same rate.
Now, since, you're (probably) not playing mandolin or driving, go read the last few entries at Chris Lott's Ruminate (here, here, here, here, and here), including the linked pages and the comments. Then read Gary Sullivan here, and Nick Piombino's response here. Then put Chris's, Gary's, Nick's, Antonio Savoradin's, Tony Tost's, K. Silem Mohammad's, Michael Wells's, Chris Murray's, Jordan Davis's, Eileen Tabios's, and Michaela Cooper's blogs in your bookmarks or favorites list or blogroll or whatever you use. It'll be fun.
5:35:41 PM 
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