My poem "A Bulgakov Headache," originally published in Stone Telling #10: Body, has been nominated for a 2015 Rhysling Award. I am surprised, but pleased about this. Two little black cats are twining about my feet, expressing their approval.
The 'Thon forges ahead with a full twenty-four-hour schedule, offset by four hours for snow. (A great deal more of which did fall in the night. At this point the ice dam that has ripped the gutter off the south side of our house projects out further than the roof. Yes, our landlord knows.) I hope to be awake enough afterward to provide my traditional report. In the meantime, I am getting some extra work done. It's amazing how much I feel like I'm late for something, just by not being in a darkened movie theater right now.
The 'Thon forges ahead with a full twenty-four-hour schedule, offset by four hours for snow. (A great deal more of which did fall in the night. At this point the ice dam that has ripped the gutter off the south side of our house projects out further than the roof. Yes, our landlord knows.) I hope to be awake enough afterward to provide my traditional report. In the meantime, I am getting some extra work done. It's amazing how much I feel like I'm late for something, just by not being in a darkened movie theater right now.
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