We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
When I was beginning to read I imagined that bridges had something to do with birds and with what seemed to be cages but I knew that they were not cages it must have been autumn with the dusty light flashing from the streetcar wires and those orange places on fire in the pictures and now indeed it is autumn the clear days not far from the sea with a small wind nosing over dry grass that yesterday was green the empty corn standing trembling and a down of ghost flowers veiling the ignored fields and everywhere the colors I cannot take my eyes from all of them red even the wide streams red it is the season of migrants flying at night feeling the turning earth beneath them and I woke in the city hearing the call notes of the plover then again and again before I slept and here far downriver flocking together echoing close to the shore the longest bridges have opened their slender wings
sorry but not very impressed, even less so after reading his bio and more of his poetry. It would seem the poets and writers of yesteryear have become in this generation movie makers, songwriters, singers. I think Christopher Marlowe would have fit right in within Hollywood and still be dead at an early age.