don’t wake me, i plan on sleeping in.

My friends, I gather you together with a sad tale. Peary Manilow has disappeared from our office. He’s been missing for two days, and the pear police are not optimistic, since the first 48 hours are the most crucial in bringing back missing persons without harm.

And Dan also speculates that a pear doesn’t last more than a few days before reaching an irreparable state of ripeness. So. . . even if we got him back, it’s likely his tour would be truncated.

In other news, it’s Friday, and I’m planning on sleeping way the heck in tomorrow morning. Heck yes. And maybe throwing in an afternoon nap today, too. Mmmm. . . napping, my favorite.

In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s summer. Yet I’m beginning my studies of Arabic love poetry for the fall a little early. It’s extremely interesting, particularly as I’m a poet just discovering that not all love poetry is tripe. Listen to the beginning of one of the books I’m reading:

“Amazing! How could it be that the one pierced through the heart by love had any remainder of self left to be bewildered? Love’s character is all-consuming. It numbs the senses, drives away intellect, astonishes thoughts, and sends off the one in love with the others who are gone. Where is bewilderment and who is left to be bewildered?”

I think it might be a pretty intense class. But hopefully it will deepen and broaden my own attempts at poetry with another cultural perspective, and another genre with its own requirements and desires.

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