Last week several things happened.

A dangerous smoke the color of dusty, transluscent cantaloupe, floated over New York, product of the Canadian wildfires.

Meanwhile, this package arrived:

Inside, was a book:

Look. It has my name on it.

Intimate Things is a dialogue/soliloquy/essay of mystical eroticism about Heloise and Abelard. It questions passion and invokes god—at the top of the Empire State Building no less.

Soon, this book, published by Lazuli Press as part of a reading series that curates contemporary writing with the giants that have come before (Intimate Things is presented with some Donne, Hopkins, Aphra Behn, Yeats….the audacity!!) will be available at a bookstore near you.

At the same time, a song (Heloise’s song) and video, both from the book, will be released into the streaming-verse.

I can’t wait.