Tomorrow is the second anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. A few days ago I noticed a lump under my jaw and shooting pains in my ears. Two days ago, I spat up blood. I have a scan set for friday, and we'll see what's going on.
In the meantime, tonight I'm part of a poetry reading at the Philadelphia Fringe Festival. The conceit is that all us poets are part of the Poetry Brothel and you can buy a private reading of a poem from the poetry whore of your choice. I happen to think it's a lovely metaphor for writing for publication and a great way to think about the fragility of a man's voice.