I've just put on my black leather punk-rock motorcycler spiked knee-high boots (boots that in a Indiana truck stop the Country Kitchen waitress in the restroom complimented me on, which restored my faith in middle America for at least a couple of days) to assuage my blues, because nothing's better than leather in making me feel better, that this year's AWP has come and gone and I didn't get to sneak into any VIP parties or fantasize about being spanked by some yummy bouncer wannabe for slipping into said party and drinking all the free highballs mama could get her hands on. Just recently I was dubbed the wearer of super-cool boots and I want to give a shout-out to my friend and a great poet to boot (ha ha, so not funny, but I do got a thing for boots...check out my poem at DIAGRAM for proof), Dawn Tefft, for so dubbing me. Here's a link to one of her poems: http://witness.blackmountaininstitute.org/archive/xxiii/Tefft.pdf
Check it out; don't make me tell you twice. Check out all her stuff, too, cause she's gonna blow up, I'm telling you...
I also gots a story out: http://www.monkeybicycle.net/archive/Collins/muse.html
Ry "Bootzie" Collins