Vegas, Baby!

I am back from my 22 hour visit to Las Vegas, America's Gomorrah. It was a little like Scrooge being visited by the ghosts of American Culture Kitsch. 

A hotel with its entire facade emblazoned with an image of Donny and Marie Osmond; the ubiquitous non-English speaking "girls direct to your room in 7 minutes" card dealers who have colonized every street corner; the ever-expanding invasion by Cirque du Soleil; taxis with ads for machine gun shops on their tops. 

It's good to be back in New England.

Revision and Reading

I've been working on revisions in earnest today. I am in the midst of drafting a ten-part poem, in conjunction with a ten-week workshop I signed on to participate in this spring. So it's helpful to counterbalance the new with the familiar.

Also, trying to read even more . . . lately I've been drawn to Charles Harper Webb (someone I don't know) and back to Reginald Shepherd (someone I have read over the years). There are so many poets whose work I only glancingly know.

Jason Shinder's Pending Posthumous Collection

On his blog, Mark Doty offered up a poem from Shinder's last collection.

I am particularly partial to another of Shinder's late poems, which I feel is filled the power and energy that we spend a lifetime tamping down. We all would do well to let it rip, while we are able.