God tur!

I am postponing the last dregs of my long labor at the U of C. Kind of a mixed metaphor, but I can't come up with anything better at the moment. Here's a very recent poem that pleases me. Just so you know: It has been steamy and warm here, even through the night. Rain comes sporadically. There are puffs from cottonwood trees in the air--They catch on my clothes and settle on the streets looking almost like patches of snow. I am trying to catch everything else that's remarkable about the neighborhood so I can take it with me. I am also plotting to sneak a few of my friends into wooden crates, hoping they'll pass as large cats, so I can take them with me to Norway. I will put a plate of herring in tomato sauce and little heart-shaped waffles under my bed every morning for them, and when I come home at night they can read me stories and tell the obnoxious old man jokes I so enjoy. Then we can lie on my silly little mattress and listen to music while the perpetual twilight outside gets dimmer and dimmer until it's finally really dark for a few hours. It's a shame these new experiences I'm sokeen on are such solitary endeavors. Enough stream-of-consciousness, Ms. Woolf, here's the poem: