i think i'm exiting chilean poet. when some books get moribund i think maybe it's me, and i know i'm in a funk peculiar to me but a funk peculiar to the world as well, for surely the world is in a progressively peculiar funk— but even in my haze i trust that it's the book and not me. i have to trust a good book will still lift my spirits. i'll try cold enough for snow and let you know. meanwhile here's your daily funking obamachron.