I had a long, winding dream. I was having a large party. Everyone I knew, had ever known, was ostensibly there. Two girls I never really got along with in high school were lovingly checking the library, preparing the hors d’oeuvres. Friends from elementary school (who are all still friends with each other, though not with me) sat at a long table with lace napkins. There were not enough chairs for everyone in the auditorium or the dining room, so many of the poets had escaped to smoke in a side-room with large open windows.
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Jessica Smith
the night before your reading I dreamt your name, the words were objects. Rather than speak them over and over, the words “Jessica” and “Smith” asserted themselves by moving into my field of vision.
apparently, my mind is building you a marquee.
working on “Riff”; maybe in a day or so I’ll have it done enough to send it to you, and then you can decide if it amuses you to make a riff chap.
A.
awww. that is cool.
yay! riff! she riff! looking fwd to it.