The poetry gods were with me again this year. They ship tons of poems across the sea of my unconscious and I autologue them back and forth between the waters of motivation and my conscious mind until they start to resemble common need. During my summer off I’ll spend a couple more hours in the mornings making sure they get organized in the right way and then get distributed back to me so that I can feel like a supply of baby food that’ll never run out. And then when I feel I have everything I need in order to ration myself through another apocalypse of a schoolyear, it’ll almost be like I won’t need to write poetry in order to write it. But that’s only because poetry is how I know I have a self and why, even when I’m not, I’m always everything I need.