Lindsey Mead

I am an avid poetry reader.  Passionate, even.  I know this is unusual (and not the coolest thing in the world).  I have bought poetry books, gone to readings, eagerly shared passages with friends, found myself moved to tears by the lines of others.  Poetry is language at its most essential: stripped down, bare, in flight.  I have stayed up far too late because I couldn’t put a book of poetry down