I interrupt this chocolate break to say that I am more than a little put out to find that any old Tom, Dick and Hanif can write a book and then find themselves labelled (albeit in sublime piss-take) as a "Reader of Signs." Look here if you don't believe me.
And what I want to say is, there ain't room for two of us in this town. Oh - I nearly forgot, I don't live in town any more. Well then, there just ain't room. I too have dark secrets, existential angst and am able to ruminate copiously on all manner of mid-life misery. If that's what it takes, I mean to say!
But here at Signs Cottage it's just the same old, really. Poetry Boot Camp is rather more boot camp than poetry right now, but on I go because that's the kind of sign-reader I am. I am stuck on account of a wolf. It is an imaginary wolf but a confounded nuisance as it refuses to be fully imagined. When the going gets tough, the tough get going and I am doing the only thing possible: eating more chocolate.
I do this so you don't have to. Just saying.