Palm Springs Art and Wine, 6 pm - open mike, then featured readers.
21+ directions: www.trapdoorpoetry.com
or call Ruth! 760-964-9767
It's been a tough week for poetry. How about - a tough week without poetry. Worse than a week without pay. My dog Shasta went missing on Friday; Edison company refrigerator pick up people left the gate open and she disappeared. I'm heartbroken. Luckily Brindle was tucked away in bedroom. And to think I was at a beyond-stupid blackboard online learning system training at work when this happened....my poor puppy-girl. I'm heading to the pound right now in Thousand Palms en route to Palm Springs to see if she's there. And....Phil Phonics walks in the door looking cute and nice. Job searching. I just made iced green tea, it's 108 degrees outside, mid-September is a quirky time of year, summer-light, sort of, and always exhaustion for me but I'm sure poetry tonight will be that lift of parachute puffing in the wind, so slightly, from the ground, and I'm wearing a sort of parachute-lift shirt, sleeveless, the hell with cellulite beginnings, it's hot!
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