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I have some very angry, poetry in my head  recently. Of my own composition.

Tonight I will be attending a poetry reading at a local college. Ferociously Yours.

****WARNING**** yeah, you'll be reading my angry poetry next.

Yesterday I attended a lecture by Mark Doty who is a memoirist and poet.

I hadn't read his work before. I will be assigning ALL of it to the top of my reading list.

The reading was held in a lecture hall that was much too  warm and i felt myself falling into a sleepy, stupor just as i used to in my elementary school days...i felt a deep personal connection to him in space in time. he was reading about an early childhood experience he'd had from his novel, Firebird.

though he may just have observed me as a sleepy woman in the front row that came to- after listening to his reading in a dream state. Awakening to hyperactively question him. 

My third question caused a hush to fall. i stopped after that. forgive me, mark. i really did want to question further when  i believed i heard you state- reality is fantasy and history is fact. did i dream that? did no one else hear?

He's a kind, kind man and a mind blowing talent.

Very generous with his knowledge with a lightening intellect.