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as it may be to some – especially those with a horse in his stable or a dog on a leash – he never encouraged fraternizing with the help or the civil guard or even his mother who lived like a queen in his memory right beside the statue of his father that was covered with pigeon shit & never looked his way – No – not once did he let on he’d ever been to Seattle or Nashville or carried a concealed weapon or illegal drugs or a passport from Jamaica – No – when he left this time it would be to climb Kilimanjaro like his son & daughter-in-law but without the vomiting or so he said – & No – he knew better than to explain traveling in winter to anyone who hadn’t – this time he’d take Boris the bulldog & his Colt .45 & wend his way south where continents divide & like those hearty pioneers before him he’ll ransack all he finds / harness an army to do his bidding & without so much as a second glance – liquidate the rest

Barcelona Diary
It's Mother's Day
By Dawn's Early Light at 120 Miles Per Hour
The Man With His Back To The Room
Intimacies, Prose. Poems and Stories
Homage to a Widow
It's Only TV
Improvisations - Chapbook
After Goya
Improvisations - From Contemporary Music
Mustering What's Left