Bill Berkson's poetry is a tortoise-and-hare countryside — no one's watching the clock, although it's lunchtime in early fall. When you read his poems, you say, "They're doing it for me, I'll do it for them." His life in art (first as a self-described "kid on the scene of the first New York School," later as a sleeper cell in the New York–Bolinas "axis of poetry evil") could be signified by a freshly minted tarot card: Collaboration. Read more »

Kenny Shopsin is a philosopher-cook who shrinks his kitchen to the size of the world and enlarges the world to the size of his kitchen, likening his old stove to ”a whore's ass" and pasting terrorists onto the wings of flies. Here are the rules at his General Store in Greenwich Village, New York City: no parties of five or larger, and everyone has to eat. Don't insult the cook by ordering just coffee unless you want to eat it. Read more »