First, a rare publication I had long forgotten about just appeared:
To His Wife Asleep
It was actually an "Editor's Pick," and if you want to vote for it as the top pick, here's the voting address:
Vote for CE!
Maybe you can help me finally win some kind of award. I've failed to place in the Morse Poetry Prize, the Ohio State Poetry Prize, the T. S. Eliot Prize, and at least two others I can't even remember ths past fall. The bad news came in January and February.
Either I suck or the judges suck or both.
Second, I'm suffering from a miserable cold. To quote Robert Frost:
"Something there is that doesn't love a cold,
That sends the frozen-mucous-drip under it,
And spills the phlegm from bronchi in the sun..."
It's hard to tell a bad cold or flu from narcotic withdrawal. Thankfully I'm saddled with only one. Can't wait to get that knight off my back.
If I had more to say I would say it. All I can emit are dribs and drabs of thoughts. This is common to boogers, I mean bloggers. My longer essay-type entries are not what blogees seek.
How about a picture? They take up a lot of space so I don't have to write. In the following picture, my beautiful wife, Kathleen, stands above her mother with her brother to her left.
In spite of my manic-depression and chronic pain, you can see I'm a lucky man. One of the luckiest in the world!