by Gorey Laurie
Well, I see that my name in the 6S author list has faded to a thin and ghostly gray. It's now a mere shadowy specter all but vanished from a long parade of perky names, all proudly full of sky-blue deliciousness. Mine and Hal Sirowitz's names, and a few pathetic others, all gone wispily gray. The names of the handful of us linger, though barely, like old wet socks crumpled on a K-Mart parking lot, fallen from a rusting van with a crushed front fender and a torn and sagging headliner. Ah, well, one does what one can, and anyway, I've been a fan of Hal Sirowitz for quite some time now. It's an honor to be in his company.
Gorey Laurie's best friend once chewed Hal Sirowitz's book of poems quite thoroughly and left the damp scraps scattered all over her living room floor.