Three memories, a sensuously descriptive phrase overheard.  Snippets you catch from the radio, someone babbling, gestures, junk, movement, detritus, the Psychedelic Anarchy you try to find, For the Poem Manufactory: get a big pot, throw this stuff in, turn the grinder crank until words come out, and get stuffed into stanza skins, something’s gut. Poetry … Continue reading Ah, the crafty poet’s recipe: