Except for this continual “concrete” poetry:

I have shelved my writing for awhile to talk about my life as a thief in the 1980s.

You can find Gabriele and me at:

Humping the Bump

The concrete poet is poised to write their autobiography.
How should they classify the creative nonfiction they are poised to graffiti onto Brooklyn streets?
No, correction, they are poised to wright.
I.e., the rite of life writing is that you first need to build the life before you can write the life,
Or, if you prefer, you may write the life as you live and right it with your writing. 

What’s wrong with this picture?

Bump in the Road
 15-Second Biopic of Guerrilla Artist/Concrete Poet Failure

For the concrete poet, the page is the canvas where words, letters, fonts are employed to confer meaning (color) beyond conventional usage. What is created is less poem and more object. The page is less the conventional fiber paper (now the digital screen) and more a stage for the poet’s metaphysical performance art.

The actor under the single follow spot or street light; the stage is the same. That light above is more than just a metaphor, it is the metaphysical light of their singular star. Their stardust’s minute of flesh that owns the stage as Words, the Speaker, Deeds, the Doer. The actor faces an audience, but what fills the space behind them? The ancestors gather there and enter through the DNA to speak and do through their vessel, the Actor. Words, the Speaker, Deeds, the Doer affects those just beyond the flesh gathered presently as witness. Their curtain call gesture is gift to the Seventh Generation.

The page/stage is the night sky where the silent k night performs.

That which is below is like that which is above, and that which is above is like that which is below, to perform the miracles of one only thing. ― Hermes Trismegistus