As I’m eating them from my fridge, I’m thinking about all the other “stuff” that has been leftover from last year that I must get to this year–besides all the editing. I’m thinking about the numerous stories I’ve started and want to finish, and the myriad of fresh poems I should continue to cook. Like leftovers, I’m wondering if these pieces of text will eventually rot in the head? Maybe by the time I get to them they will have grown six inches of mold on their words. (This reminds me of the clamato juice at the back of the fridge in the cardboard box–how do you tell when it’s moldy in the box when you can’t see through the box?)
I keep thinking I’ll have time somewhere in the future to do this writing. Maybe my resolution this year should be to make resolutions. (Usually I don’t–they seem confining and then I just want to break them).
On another note, I’ve found Lisa Roberston‘s work very stimulating in the past year, esp. The Weather, but I also came across some Ted Berrigan with links to some sonnets. There’s something about the personal/confessional brashness of Berrigan that intrigues me.
And in searching, I also came across some work by Rachel Blau DuPlessis. I had only read academic essays of hers until recently. I find her work interesting, in a way similar to that of Robertson, although I think I find Roberston’s freshness–unlike leftovers– more appealing to my taste, whatever that is.