OK.
Now I'm going to read some poems.
And I think since some people from Chax Press
brought this hand done lovely printing of a few of my poems
that they originally made in 1998 that I'm
going to read a couple from this,
and it's called Writing The Plot About Sets.
So "Writing."
"The clerk half skips away in his jaunty officious hurry.
Oh, he's telling me a joke about our common inability
to occupy two planes.
What he can't know is that I hate body language.
My life had stood a little speech, a clipped coupon.
Hell is unredeemed experience.
If I were dying in a hospital bed
would I get pencil and paper to jot down passing thoughts?
Not likely.
I myself was always a forwarding address.
But here's the joke.
Syntactic space predates and dominates these words.
We must take reasoning tests before passing
through a cutout, arabesque in the Islamic facade
beyond which small boats wait to carry us to the icebergs.
We hunker down with short pencils
in front of the ticket booth."