when I brought in my poem to T, it was really hard to sit there and watch him read it. It was torture! It was like watching someone as they looked right into your soul. There are no curtains or walls in my poetry--it was a direct look in for T, and I had to watch him as he looked in. Aaaaaaccccckkkkk! I had a strong impulse to run out the door.

I remember one thing he asked me was how did it feel to watch him read my poem. Just wanted you to be prepared....