Oh...

 

I feel much better now.

The Scorpion Farmer

 I'm thinking about writing an allegorical story about the declining status of an unnamed superpower, which descends into tribalism, fascism and ignorance in a startlingly short period of time after the election of an anti-democratic, misogynistic sociopath to the highest office of the land.  It will be called "The Scorpion Farmer" and I'm visualizing the last chapter -- the cruel farmer lies writhing on the dusty ground, having finally been toppled by millions of the irate, stinging scorpions he has mistreated and misled over the years.  In a rippling wave of pain and death, they swarm the screaming, prostrate figure, extracting revenge for all of the destruction and death caused by the cruel, sociopathic farmer.  Final scene:  the farmer's old red hat lying battered and torn, the only thing now visible on the hard, rocky ground.

Or maybe not...

The War President

Narragansett

Instead of my usual snarky new year's poem, I'm starting this year with a gentle little book.  This is "Narragansett," an accordion-style artist's book I created from cardboard drink coasters, some left-over scraps of nautical maps, and document repair tape in late 2025.  (4x4," opens to 24"). This book is travelling to Kalamazoo, MI right now, to be part of the annual Illustrated Accordion exhibition at Kalamazoo Book Arts Center. 

I was thinking about the sea.