Poems written in Fargo, North Dakota“Why Fargo” you may ask. And I say, you might as well ask “Why oxygen? Why watermelon? Why cats? Why monkeys? Why Sartre? Why candles? Why french fries? Why the I-Ching?” There are many questions which could be asked. Few, if any, will be answered in this book. But I will say this. Damn straight Fargo. And you may ask “Why ‘damn straight Fargo.’” And I say, you may as well ask “Why damn anything that could be damned in a damnable situation; such as fill in the damn blank.” And you may ask “Why fill in blank.” And I say you might as well not fill in any blank and see where that gets you. Nowhere far I’d bet. Certainly not more than a few blocks away from where you are now. And you know what that means. You know what it’s like a few blocks away. You’ve been there. You like it where you are. I don’t have to tell you about the difference between there and where you are now. And that is exactly what I am talking about. The difference. Yes, the difference. Not the sameness. It is not same. It is far from same. It different. (is) And so I went to Fargo on a plane. I could take a bus. It is much less expensive if you buy twenty one days in advance. I could drive. But the ice. And so there was the plane. The Fargo, North Dakota airport is not big. You could find your keys there easily if you lost them. Who wants to lose their keys though? I didn’t lose mine. But maybe someday I will. You should have my friends the Kobrinskys over for dinner. They will pay. They’re that kind if people. Would that all people could be that kind of people. Norweigan. Canadian. North Dakotan. The way music makes Christina weep. She is a world.