Piss in her EAR, make her say UNCLE.

The degree to which I've felt like a real poetry major these last few days has been ridiculously high.

I am so glad for Scrabble at Bean, Planet Earth Poetry, my hostel, ichiban, Lorna, Leonard Cohen; for Steph and Brit, and the completely insane things we wind up doing when in each other's presence.

Approximately eighteen poems are burbling in the fissures between my bones and I must make time to write them. If I put my open mouth to your ear, you will hear them humming.