I caught up on my poems finally. I kind of like the poem I wrote yesterday, "almost an island." I love that poems can be anything, I took an experience I had in Key West and completely lied about it in the poem, but it is such a great lie that I almost wish it was true. Oh imaginings, how I love you. I love creating and manipulating stories in my poems. If half the things I wrote about actually happened to me I would probably be crazy. Or, if I told the truth (as Cecil has told me to), well, I'm just not going to think about that. . . Ay.
Mexico in a week. I look forward to the heat, to the sunrise over the mango fields. To the scent of wood smoke.
This song reminds me of my winter in Switzerland.