​Merry Chris tmas! 
​
Last Christmas Eve, after midnight, way after, waiting,  
in my Christmas pajamas. 

By next Christmas, my fourth book of generous, reckless poetry (Free perVerse) will be here.  

This one's called
      Spinach for Popeye.

​And I won't be taking off these  magical, lyrical, festively fuzzy Christmas pajamas until this book is written down, wriggled down each and everybody's chimney.  


                                     
                                      


             And then ...

There's my new novel.  Babies on the Run!  

A book getting longer and livelier as I write it, about babies (on the run)
with full vocabularies, good taste, babies who know things, who one day
​look up, take a good look at their parents, and say nope ... I'm outta here. 

And make a run for it.

​The babies do this each alone, but then meet each other out on the road,
on the way to ... where? A Baby Utopia? Maybe, but in any case, they're free
from their parents' straight jackets, numb predictability, and abuse. 

Babies on the Run! will be finished sometime within a year ​if I can keep up
with these wild babies, who can really run! They're running ... already free!                                                                                        

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