April is definitely the cruelest (and most lucrative) month if you make your living as a poet. I haven’t spent two nights at home consecutively in weeks, and it’s starting to take its toll on me. Couple years ago, I had 17 paying gigs in April, and I thought that was my record. But I just counted the gigs for this month, and it’s 21. No wonder I’m exhausted.
My book celebration and haircut at the Bowery Poetry Club on April 7th was a smashing success. I now look like a responsible Republican again, and I can roll over in bed without strangling myself!