So much has been happening since the beginning of T.S. Eliot’s cruelest month that National Poetry Month kind of got lost in the shuffle here at the Portable Bohemia nerve center. April opened with your oft humbled scribe deep in the muck hammering out an essay that ended up titled
Quest (a poem)
Quest (a poem)
Quest (a poem)
So much has been happening since the beginning of T.S. Eliot’s cruelest month that National Poetry Month kind of got lost in the shuffle here at the Portable Bohemia nerve center. April opened with your oft humbled scribe deep in the muck hammering out an essay that ended up titled