The knees in this poem belonged to a lovely 23 year old woman I met in Greece in 1969. The ride and the knees are real. If she yet lives, she is a 70 year old society matron in Greenwich, Connecticut. I haven’t seen or heard from her since 1991. I wonder what she would think of her knees residing in a poem. Curiouser and curiouser.

Honorary Schizophrenic. Recent refugee. Displaced person. Old white male. Confidant of cassowaries.

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