Self-Published.

I remember the first time seeing my words printed in a magazine.

Youth was on my side and my beard didn't connect yet. My son wasn't even close to being a twinkle in my eye. I wasn't even really a poet at the time.

These days I'm a little less youthful but the years are treating me pretty okay.

This one hits me deeper than those magazine issues.

I'm a self-published poet.

Having a digital home for my work has felt Heaven-sent and throwing up a digital chapbook on it has been equally blissful.

For the first time though, there are physical books of my poetry.

It's not a full book, it's not a for-profit venture, it's not even a large run of books.

But enough about what it isn't.

It is mine.

And it'll live on someone's nightstand.

Or a bookshelf.

Or hanging off the edge of a bed.

Or in the backseat of a car.

Or between homes somewhere in the wind.

And holding it brings me peace.

That's at a premium in 2022.