>>>Durham Cathedral, Durham, UK>>>

                      >>>Durham Cathedral, Durham, UK>>>>

                       <<<<<<Fort Wayne, Indiana>>>>>>>>

                        >>>>>>>Liverpool, UK<<<<<<<<

                       Mosque,  London, UK>>>>>>>>>>>>>

                      >>>>>>Edinburgh, Scotland>>>>>>>

                   <<<<<<<<<<Fort Wayne, Indiana>>>>

>>>My art for The Fur Coats debut LP and CD Released on Dirt Cult Records, Artistic Integrity Records, and Drunken Sailor Records in the UK>>>>>

Handwritten Letter Found in a Used Terry Pratchett Discworld Paperback

Dear Jude,

Here I am at Ladies Workout Express. I did papers earlier. I've got the copier jammed AGAIN. 

I'm getting the loan payments lower.

However I got a traffic ticket.

So I have to go to Traffic School for 4 hours.

The cost will set me back about $100.00.

Bitter cold today. I need to let Smoke out this afternoon.

Joyces funeral mass wasn't very good.

I had a headache from it.

Little Bruce fainted during it.

Andy one of the altar boys had to use the bathroom.

Grandma went with me and they had quite a crowd.

Neither Joyce's mom or dad were there.

There was no school Mon - Lincoln's birthday and no school Thurs. - Joyce's funeral.

Snow is melting & I found 2 dead chickens in the yard.

Not much is new, mostly work.

Horse fair is March 3rd & 4th. I might go.

I love you.

Shirley – Mom

Freak Dune Buggy Accident 

(For Frank O'Hara)  

Damn! Pacing cold,

Another winter, shivering

Until I can stand pat--

Acclimatized,

Cards close to my chest

And waiting.

I was only four months out

In July of '66

Just a mewling, grasping

Thing,

A baby,

Which is sort of the

Same as a poem,

I think.

You left behind (they say)

Hundreds of friends

And lovers,

But most importantly,

Your not-so-easily

Dis (missed) poetry.

I imagine you

Lying on the cold,

Damp sand of Fire Island,

The smell of diesel

In your nostrils,

Looking up at

The stars--grains of

Spilled salt on a crisp

Wedding tablecloth--

Chuckling to yourself,

The absurdity!

As Mayakovsky winks

From a passing cloud.

Highgate Cemetery, London

All Ages Show

Go ahead and answer your space ship

You said,

My phone startling us both.

I had been ineffectively

Dabbing at the seeping gash

In your scalp with napkins.

You,

Having obviously

Enjoyed my music enough

To bleed appreciatively,

Looked around the tired

Bowling alley venue

As if seeing it

For the first time.

"Love it," you smiled.

The Song

The song turns,

rotating behind glass

a frequency ellipse,

micro-waved to the ear.

The song sings itself,

a puffed up narcissist

and presses hoping

against your disdain.

The song is a college try,

something to be eaten quickly

a glazed fancy,

its desperation made tactile.

The song is a collective,

generational howling

and you'll sing it

whether you want to or not.