Right now, I’m sitting outside of my apartment listening to Miles Davis’ “A Kind of Blue.”  Hendrix, my dog, is watching the night’s sky, and I’m taking a break from a piece I’m writing on the LA poet laureate.  I need to take a break and kind of think away from the page, away from the assignment, to reorient my thoughts. So, I’ve been trying very hard, over this last month, to find ways to make writing pay.  To use words as commerce, as funding for a life.  But I find myself, right now, wondering about poetry.  It’s a form that I love, but it’s a form that no one, hardly, will pay for.  And I have found that I’ve been writing less and…