Kirby Olson

At the confluence of the Delawareand the Little Delaware I fishedwithout result. I cast my lure timeafter time into thetumult. My friend threw flies. Ithrew a Phoebe, untilevening called a halt. We talked about Nothing:Zen and Gorgias.The darkness dwelt. The bats fluttered. Thestars poked thru a . . . . Continue Reading »

Beauty’s a womanwith a triple nose-piercingin a battered Chevy . . . . Continue Reading »