These poems are the pure products of a brilliantly twisted mind. The real stuff.
I rode with him from Baltimore to a reading in D.C. once. This was in the late 80's. I remember trying to pry him open a little so I could get some sense of the source of these poems, but no go, he was too complete a person and a poet to feel a need to satisfy my curiosity. He just sat there watching the highway landscape pass. At the time I had an image of a nest of pythons hidden behind his silent skinny facade.