Episode 3: Episode 3: A Little Traveling Music

What happens at the edge of the Mayan jungle takes my attention: an old hotel on the outskirts of Valladolid, a ceiling fan, a blue parrot, an elderly indian woman equal a story.

A bus ride to the bank in all its variety. A slide of pizza, an arrest, a walk in the park after a capuccino. All in a day's life. Upper West Side of Manhattan.

I get an email from a former student that contains an email from Sam Hamill of Copper Canyon Press urging anti-war poems be written and sent.

The coattree had doorknobs on it. A woman giggles. Where do feelings go when we're through with them? You tell me. I have a couple of thoughts.

Went for a run at the town cemetery, ran into more than I bargained for, in the form of memories.

Ran into a childhood friend. The encounter brought back many memories as we attended our party's county political convention.

My life in New York, Boston, other places, some roles I've played, some scripts and poems I've writte. Check me out.

I'm on the no. 5 bus, rumbling up Riverside Drive, coming home after an argument with a very dear friend; I respond to everything and everyone I see around me, annoyed by a Raspberry seed stuck between my teeth.

I ride the bus, any one of several routes, to work, describing the journey as the bus rumbles its way to midtown.

At 81st and Broadway, the traffic light suddenly changed from a bulb, to words, actual words. By the Shakespeare & Co. bookstore. I saw it all. Listen up.