where the leaves on the side of I-65 seem to be already thinking autumn-wise. There was a white corvette with painful red leather interior, an afternoon on W Fourth where the streets are ready for a later-fervor and just up the road, all sharply-ironic, Ryan Adams will be singing tonight. I drove away from Ryan A. b/c that's the kind of genius-knot with which I'm tied.
In other news I wrote a poem in response to Danielle's poem. Maybe I'll post it and someone can respond to my poem about Danielle's poem which mentions another poem. Or should we start a new stone in the water and the group of us (you know who you are Poets, Emus, Countrymen) can ripple out.