My new book of poems and drawings — Hello, Friends: A poet-robot … a chain-smoking seductress … a dying connoisseur. All of these characters and more make appearances in my new collection of poems and drawings, Plumstuff, out today. Plumstuff is a reinvention of my out-of-print debut Plum Stuff. …

Prologue It began so very gently… There were whispers, soft and occasional, of some far-flung contagion. The whispers grew louder and more numerous. Soon everyone was whispering — and eying one another skeptically. I couldn’t pretend not to notice, on my morning walks-for-coffee, that dozens of citizens were crossing the street…

Walking is still my favorite way to meet dangerous people. I’ve only been mugged once. The guy looked like me. Exactly like me. “I’m a writer,” I told him. As he breathed on my empty wallet. “You can have the wallet, if you want.” He sniffed it. “Is it leather?” …

Monks are peculiar birds — I am a nightingale. I am fairly certain. I enjoy singing in the evening. When I was a fledgling, I lived in the city. The machines and the people… I had to sing twice as loud, for anyone to hear. I am not sure they heard me, even then. It…

What a name … what a tan … what a fan — I love, love, love, love, adore and love that Jack Dangerson. When he tilts his hat in Hey! Sandiego, I could scream. When he smiles at the end of Nearly the Last Tomorrow, I could rip my pillow in half. …

I’ve been expecting you… — When Mr. Penny died that night on the operating table, it seemed to him that the ceiling above changed from plaster to glass, then shattered. A few shards cut him, as they fell — or ought to have cut him, though he felt nothing. He tried examining his arms, but…

A beautiful woman… — There was a woman. There is always a woman. A beautiful woman. The life of any man is a burning, then a standing over ashes. Stirring and stirring, with his cane. I was young. And burning. I was young… We walked, evenings. This woman and I. For the days were…