Raccoon

I penned this first small book of  poems—interspersed with restless wanderings—while living alone for close to ten years in a small cabin in the woods of Carlisle, Massachusetts, near the shore of the Concord River. I published 100 copies of Raccoon (all I could afford) back in the early nineties and sold them pretty quickly, not due to merit, but mostly to friends kind enough to indulge my unkempt experiments with words. No doubt, the larger world of poetry has pretty much ignored my efforts—as I have their world, so I do deeply appreciate any of you who takes the time to share in this old and blessed time of mine—albeit in a new and more modern format. 



Though the years have moved by quickly and happily, I still find myself reliving those days and nights in the cabin, dipping my pen in an old inkwell just to see what would happen.

This is what happened...

Thanks for reading,

~Fitz