Words are filling my head, and I am wanting to sequester myself in order to allow them the time to be released, but life currently has other ideas. I've written half a dozen new poems in the past week, and there are stories simmering and even the first inklings of a novel. At least this weekend is filled with writing group meetings, so the pressure can be let off a little. Otherwise I think I might burst. Yesterday I was at The Cloisters in NYC, a place I've never been before (why I don't know), with a dear friend, and it was an experience that is producing poems at a furious rate. Some may end up here, I don't know.