"The Alp at the End of the Street" -- one of Wallace Stevens' unused titles. Shindell said it was too wordy. I feel an attachment to it, though it might only be superficial. I still dream that I can walk out my guest house and find myself at home. I understand the literal Alp at the end of the street, even while I live in the palm at the end of the mind. L.A., not Florida.
My hits went up, despite my not posting. Here is why. Someone named Cup of Chicha has questions about self-presentation. I'm not sure I understand the point. I am here to talk poetry, to present poems in progress, to fold up a corner of my process.
I am not related to Lothar Quinte--for real. And the book cover is supposed to be creepy. I don't share too many personal things because this blog is about my art.
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