It is that time of year when one thinks of getting older, for some reason, and of moving on to the next season & newer stage.

My friend Rita is joining the alleyways group this summer as an artist-in-residence, to join us (reluctant) poets-in-residence, who will set up our chairs along the haunted byways of Somers Point. I am excited to sit there with her, and with my friend Gerri.

And I am still thinking about Aubri’s poem from the other night, too.

i who is am
not the i
once charted
across stars

i could not
read u
then, so
fell down
not in grass
but on pavement
scratched
a cornea
there, well

u called i
inauthentic
once when i
said it was
like every other

now when i
is there
i think,
andy warhol

and every star-
bucks the same:
that is what
i love
that this one
here, mays landing
the same as
yrs in astor pl
& another
tottenham ct rd
or glen rock

one xmas
my sister &
i walked
all over london
nothing open
but bucks &

after a whole
day, she said
one more, but

i couldn’t take
no more,
sister.

i is still
so full from
the last &
might, will i
never be so full
again