Having a super-relaxed time in Puerto Vallarta. I've read three poetry books and three novels so far, sitting in our cabana on the beach. Actually, one of the "novels" was a David Sedaris essay/story collection, Naked, which just had me is stitches and laughing like a fool, making some of the other beachgoers look at me like I was a lunatic. Yesterday I finished The Road. It was a little odd coming after the very funny Sedaris book to read something so dark and harrowing and apocalyptic. But it was riveting. I could not put it down. And the irony was not lost on me: that I was sitting in a lovely cabana at this beautiful resort beach, reading and sipping a margarita and nibbling chicken quesadilla with guacamole and pico de gallo, while all the while this poor man and his son are trudging through a burnt-out wasteland, shivering through rain and snow with their feet wrapped in rags, scavenging for food and shelter, while hiding out from bands of cannibals.


I have maybe one or two new poems since I've been here. But I've worked a lot on revisions and ordering the next book. I think it is coming together. I hope it is coming together.

Only two more full days left. I can't imagine returning to work yet. But I know it will be fine. It always is.