When Henry Miller got back to
An Open Letter to All and Sundry. Maybe it was called
The Plight of the
Creative Artist in the
He asked for readers to send him a Thermos, woolen socks,
and brightly-colored neckties. Women sent him pictures of
themselves naked. What good is that? You can’t eat it
or spend it. It’s not fungible, my dear.
We’re hungry here. A soup bone
would be better. A crust of bread.
Some soft cheese. A bottle of wine.
A jalopy. My Bike and Other Friends.