For better or worse, poetry is now the only thing he likes to do. Even with the crying and the hopeless odds.
Over at The Point, O.T. Marod writes about the crippling existential despair inherent in the question, “How should a poet make money?”—and a certain poet’s journey in a 2002 Toyota Camry inching along in Chicago traffic (towards?/away?/in the general vicinity of?/not even close to?) an answer.
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