Merry Chris tmas!
Last Christmas Eve, after midnight, way after, waiting,
in my Christmas pajamas.
By next Christmas, my fourth book of generous, reckless poetry (Free perVerse) will be here.
This one's called
... Spinach for Popeye.
And I won't take off these magical, lyrical, festively fuzzy Christmas pajamas until this book is written down, then down
each and everybody's chimney.
!
And then, there's my new novel, Babies on the Run!
A book getting longer and livelier as it runs, about babies (on the run) with full vocabularies, good taste, babies who know things, who one day look up, take a good look at their parents, and say nope, I'm outta here, and make a run for it. The babies do this alone, but meet each other out on the road, on the way to, where? A Baby Utopia? Maybe, in any case, they're free from their parents' straight jackets and abuse.
Babies on the Run will be finished sometime within a year if I can catch up to these babies, who can really run! They're running, already free ...