The Red K Considers

The critic H. P. Bloomingdale praised my work and listed me among the finest poets writing in English. Why is it that now I walk through swamp gums, wringing my hands, breaking into a red sweat, thinking about Barry Manilow who is still haunted by the memory of the night Bob Dylan came to him at a party, put an arm over his shoulder, and whispered “Love your work, man. You inspire me.”