Like Missing Instruments
Having a three-page poem & my portrait selected for this anthology feels like a gift, even though things between Santa and I have not exactly been all rosy these past five X-mases or so, since the book began, since I had to stop believing in Santa along with the tooth fairy, easter rabbit(s), etcetera…so I wasn’t invited to read last night at the launch which was okay…neither was so & so, an old (in the figurative sense) friend and contemporary American anthological sister also in attendance, on whose faithless W.H. Auden-esque arm I tattooed the above title as per her request, with a lump of coal. Then another friend accidentally cut open his hand on a broken bottle of Miller Fortune in Tompkins Square park because he never even got to meet Santa. He’s okay now. Buy this book.