Slow Sunday, a spot of solitude, hence a new poem, for the new collection.  I’m working to have the manuscript ready by the end of January, working title, Detective Work.

Perhaps not entirely appropriate-though no doubt he was once an upstart-I will dedicate it here, now to David Bowie. I’m still reeling from the news of his death. He certainly can keep a secret, or is it just me? Did everyone know he had cancer? I, like millions, idolized Bowie. Ziggy Stardust helped me survive high school, I swear, and I had the great privilege of seeing him in concert. I was moved by the Blackstar videos and will set about listening to the album. I’ve always loved this photograph by Canadian John Robert Rowlands and have a framed print of it in my living room. Bowie truly was a remarkable artist, an inspiration. Funny, black stars litter my book. I use a row of four black stars to indicate scene breaks within chapters.

UPSTART

Cineaste selfies over brunch.

Four-dollar toast,

Single-origin coffee,

Post-ironic jokes,

Cold, amusingly terrible eggs.

Actually, I like crap reports Juan,

Nearly as much as fapping

To Kristen Stewart.

Groan we must, our nuggets

Of wisdom lost

On the 19 year old who

Only needs to sell a few batches

Of home-brewed kombucha

In order to retrieve his skateboard

From the pawn shop.

Juan’s a gem,

Director in the rough

With a great idea for a movie,

Matching Kickstarter campaign.