Saturday, February 28, 2009


Dear Fonzie,

When I was a baby poet I wrote lots of things and a very few of them wrote themselves into the rafters of my skull.  One is:

It is in the early  morning 
that I love to hear them scream
for their hearts screech out their wicked lies 
with lips and tongues serene.

Most things I wrote that I couldn't get out of my head I respected for that reason and put them in poems but this seemed like youthful rage and I never did.  I did recently.  But I post this here because it was in my head again.        

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