Wednesday, September 19, 2007


I ended yesterday with Creeley & trade for popcorn to get a stamp for a letter to my good friend name Zack. Zachary is a profound name. Reminds me of this country’s history. An elegance of democracy. Cradle of revolution. Though I never had it I still miss it. I know it came from family from my imagination. Kit Carson. Billy the Kid. Butch Cassidy. So even before I could hear Zack utter hello I was intrigued. A poet. A musician. A devil’s angel. He’s one of a kind. Brought me into his friendships with Matt Wild – a terrific filmmaker, dreamer, musician, maker of deep fried twinkies & more of a muse than a siren. & Mr. James Liddy. A poet extreme. A man so genius with his words & actions. A true legend of the Irish kind. Well Zack, Matt & James have written letters beyond support and frankly I’ve been a bit shy of their wonderful words. I thank them. Knowing they’re as well as the legions of supporters I’ve listed in the past & will continue in the future, I thank & love you all. & to share my joy & to irritate the bastards who try to keep me down-not only am I on a wonderful yard but I have a key to this cell. So far those who want dungeons & rats & big fat cops (ok we do have them), I’m confined. That’s it. & I will move unencumbered in my devotion to poetry – love – friendship & the water that defines us.

Another day comes to an end. Slim found a cop’s wallet on the track & returned it to him without a second thought. So in case you can’t believe we walk in the same direction, believe it. I could & will tell you who these men really are. Beyond being your fathers, brothers, uncles, cousins, nephews, lovers, friends or that guy who pushed you down and then helped you up. Pointed the right direction. Remember in the moment of a sneeze a crime can be thought out or acted. & lives destroyed. Open our minds & free our hearts.

I end with a favorite poem of Zack’s by the wonderful Joseph Ceravolo – “A Song of Autumn”


A dog disappears
across a small lake.
It waits for me.
It goes where I want to go.
Begins to wake up the flowers.
So leave us alone.
Because no freedom can choose
between faces and
hours as destroyed as moving,
or cold water in the
sun. I can go out
now and measure
the flies that swing around trees
like doctors around a woman
full of bars and beauties
you could never make free;
Not even if the
flowers turn to moss and
lose sensation in their stems.

Beyond Joe Ceravolo Zack reminded me of Ernest Noyes Brookings & Alfred Starr Hamilton. True poets – gifted to the extreme.

Happy Labor Day

To all our union workers- supporters-brothers/sisters –

“United We Stand, Divided We Fall”

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