As always, I’m writing poems.
Poems about hunters walking into the woods, about names falling away like ash of paper. I’m writing poems like someone tapping a rhythm against a table. Then I’m the one tapping poems against tables – watching the ink form circles in the snow.
If not that – then theatre @ The RCSSD. I’m a pretentious bird falling with his black coat like a bat learning to walk. The moon comes and giggles. That’s it. That’s the image. It’s so hard to be serious, isn’t it? Gotta undercut everything.
So that’s the new! I’m a hustler-theatre-man in Londontown. Gotta pen and everything. Legit. Straight and narrow.
We’re doing some stuff soon so I’m trying to be more vain: Let’s #throwback: