Poetry has been scarce these past few days. It's been too hot to think. The Slow Summer of 2006. If I lived in California or Africa I'd be the most unproductive poet in history.
I've been in maintain mode ever since I came back from the working week away, holding on grimly until I could take some time off and recharge my all-but-flat batteries at home with my books and in my sanctified refuge at the Squirrel Hilton. I've also had to factor in the unexpected resurrection of my social life. Hunted in the workplace, blunted when I leave. "No sympathy for the devil".
The Poem will return this weekend when the temperature dips and I start putting together the next ANGEL HEAD. So much fine writing by so many good poets will undoubtedly be the boost my inspiration needs. Watch S.P. for details of when the next issue is online.