Dear Reader(s),
Sometimes I can’t help myself and I get all, you know, deep. Like, what is a tree, actually? Does the color pink actually exist? Did you ever just look at your hand and think, whoa?
real estate – you can debate the realness of a concept all you want, but pointy things are sharp; also I forgot my rule that my naming convention for poetry is that it should be one word, lower case, and the word can’t have appeared in the poem itself
lucid – some moments stick with you, even when you’re just stopped at a traffic light on the margin between 93 South and Somerville
math – there is beauty in “almost” and “just about”
If a Substack has no subscribers, does it even exist? Why take that risk?
—jr
