Savannah Yankton Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

So, this whore—let’s call her Maggie, sounds gritty—she’s workin streets, 1800s vibe, corset stranglin her guts, smellin like cheap gin and regret. Little known fact, yeah? Whores back then, some’d hide tiny knives in their hair—fancy that! Stab a bloke if he got rough. Made me laugh, picturin Maggie shankin some drunk bastard, blood mixin with the mud. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, smirkin—prolly tasted like stale ale and bad choices.

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College in Yankton, South Dakota, I was asked to become the National Endowment for the Arts writer-in-residence at Federal Prison Camp Yankton eight years ago.

I'm always thinking, "Oh my gosh, what a moment!" Memories rush knock-knock, like a mad dance, dancing "Requiem."

PHOTO COLLECTION: Panama Festival