My Gorgeous Somewhere

I imagined the poems pouring out of Dickman, all in order, all at once, probably on a hot day or during a hot week. I imagined them being written on a typewriter, an old one, in my living room — yes, my living room — at my dining room table. And then in my imagining Dickman was me, sort of, and I was writing these poems, and it was my hot day, my hot week.

From My Gorgeous Somewhere.