What am I up to tonight? I’m covered in a flannel blanket, reclined in a large blue chair, with an oversized goblet full of tap water on the rocks beside me. A Himalayan salt lamp glows in the corner of the room, and my cat is asleep on the couch. The house is quiet and the world is calm, despite the true crime documentary I’m watching. Unlike 99.9% of poets in America, I live like a king.