On June 11th at the Seattle Art Museum there will be a one night living art piece called An Impasse of Poets in which 100 poets dressed in black will move about the museum for one hour, whispering among themselves. An hour of semantic susurrus. There will be microphones in the museum, broadcasting the whispers to areas of the building where the poets are not.

I will be one of the one hundred. Mind you, they weren't very selective.

We are required to memorize one of our original pieces. I have been wrestling with an idea for a poem about Westernization for months and am trying to draw it out onto paper for the show. But, it seems I have poetry in me but it doesn't like to come out often. I think the leap might be too large since I, as of late, have spent most of my poetry writing time talking about mothers, coming of age and hook ups.

So, that's what's going on in my camp.