I published Letters To Jake privately with Xlibris for my first grandchild to come clean about a recent tragedy in my life. From the back cover . . .

Here's a patchwork of letters to you composed in a groping new life of my own. Of poems -glimpses- from here & there and from all over. And pages from those few turbulent years with Gitta too painful to write -and surely read- in a single telling. "Somebody else needs to know . . ." I guess thats you, Jake.

Call me a performance poet who dilly-dallied plenty before getting the word and who then went right over the top. Mostly it's about just saying the so and it's like this: when I'm hot I usually first hear my poems. When I'm not, I get pretty grumpy. Sometimes I just follow my camera instead. "But what did you DO?" says you. For a long time that bothered me too. Well, all sorts of things, Jake, like naval officer, ad exec, university prof . . . nothing much seemed to fit. Then one day I simply soared. Shortly after that I went down in flames, straight down. I took another with me. Now there were other things to do: convict, hobo, day-laborer. That's about it, Jake. These miracle days I look to resonate with what is, no more.