Four Number Cloggers Versus Me, Their Dog We were alone in the basement. He was grip-filling noggin, me up a laddercable tying festoons; when his admission camebeneath the roar of burners, the radio chog.I listened, bookended by caveatsand with Paxolin for a prop, he confidedthat he had lost count of all the attemptsto end it…

Sir Duke (i.m. Stevie Boucher) I. The first time I met you, you welcomed melike a hearth without guard or grate.You handed me a plate – but first, whiskey glass.We spoke of Chelski, Butch; beforetalk turned to your daughter – your one, only.How I’d suffer worse fate, if I hurt her. Three-quarters cut on Take…