It’s a good time to be a poet,
although the pay is shitty.
My goodness, nice naked byrd-leg shots, sir. My comment on your previous posting seems to have been sacrificed to the spam gods and cyber gnomes. I wanted to tell you that your diary entries read like a Hemingway short story, or a chapter in Faulkner; rife with the colors, aromas, and sensations of your NYC adventures. Have you written short stories, or novellas? Your blog descriptions of your camping trip with your son, your hike up that mount in New Mexico for the Mexican celebration at the feet of the great statue of Christ on the cross read well too, but your subway ride off to see Mr. Wu was magical. Hope you revisited him and got some more grass art, and let's hope the misplaced original artifacts found a nice home too.
Dear Dad: I miss you. One of the reasons I have rock solid confidence and almost never embarrass is because I have a dad who posts pictures of himself in a New York bathtub on his blog for all the world to see. Love, Susie
a walk-up cold-water?my friend's ballandclaw tubis in her kitchen... has a wooden top that flips up and down to make the tub into a kitchen table...on that table/tub in 1970 I put my portable Royal and composed book 2 of "Song of Chin"where are the bubbles?
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