32 was a year of first books. Of sideshow poems and Alice in Wonderland projects. Of relationship angst, but also of unusually lusty and wanton behavior (somehow, each always leads inevitably to the other). Of lots of readings and poems in my favorite journals. Of endlessly folding chapbooks and a host of bad horror movies.
Lets hope this is a year of much of the same. Except for the angst. I could do without that.