I've got a new poem out today, "Ode to the Haverford Park Apartments." When he accepted it, the editor noted a certain Frank O'Hara tone to it, an idea that has amused me ever since. I was not thinking of Frank when I wrote it, but I'm happy to have him floating through the lines as a ghost.

This morning I'll be at my desk; in the afternoon I'll be driving; in the evening I'll be trudging up Monson's dark Main Street. Teaching all day tomorrow, with the theme of imagination--an umbrella notion that covers not just the minutiae of figurative language but also straight-up lying, both of which we'll be playing with during class. And then home again.