I’ve just mailed off my final packet of work for my second semester of grad school. This one was relatively short– only about 27 pages total. I am at once both relieved and irretrievably sad.

From now until next January, everything I write in Little Fury will serve no purpose but to amuse me or– gasp– allow me to participate in a conversation much greater than the confines of central North Carolina. And usually both.

Perhaps tomorrow: the thoughts on found poetry that I’ve been storing up for a few days.