Some performances were long. We raged past the show and burrowed furiously into the night. Other performances were lonely and quiet, intimate, with soft conversation and relaxed acceptance of letting the flow be. On the last night, our voices rose and fell in play with one another, harmonizing at their own accord to the perfect pitches, intervals, frequencies.
Don’t ask me why, but I thought it’d be a swell idea to contribute 1,500 poems for this Saturday’s event gift bags. That’s right. 1,500 tiny, original poems. Via typewriter.