It’s the last day of August, and the peach glow of summer’s final sunset is making its slow, languorous descent over the windowpanes. I’ve watched sunlight fall through the Workman’s Club windows the same way at least five times, always on a Wednesday, always with poets I sort of know taking part in another fundraiser and always from the couch at the back of the vintage room. I used to be a regular fixture at such shows, where I’d inebriate myself with metaphors and mojitos. Somewhere along the way, though, it lost its buzz for me. One of the beauties of the Dublin slam poetry … Continue reading An American Slam Poet in Paris, Then Dublin