Title of post

I don't get sick often, but when I do, it's bad-ass. This one for instance settled into my system on Super Bowl Sunday, hit its nadir on the following Wednesday-Thursday, and since then - i.e. for the entire week previous to this moment in time, Thursday, 10:10 a.m. - I've been harrumphing up the "last" of the sickness. At any rate, I've returned to previous levels of capability & haleness.

I wrote, yesterday, for example, a poem about empathy via the figure of Bill Clinton. This was a blast. I had to unfortunately jump out of the corner into which I'd painted myself by making the poem, again, about Kristin. Which wasn't so far afield from the subject matter, I suppose, but - and this doesn't mean I don't love you, sweetie - I'd like to depend less on Kate as the savior of the poem.

These are the poets I can't quite square with my project yet, who in some or other manner stymie me:

~ Brenda Hillman
~ Charles Wright
~ Richard Wilbur

Insights on these would be appreciated. Now I have a five page poem to type up. Kristin comes Saturday, exclamation point!