On a cold day like this one, when I have few customers to distract me, it's nice to get a visit from a friendly neighborhood poet. Mr. Blazer dropped by awhile ago, in part to buy books(much appreciated) and in part to share a poem. If I had a perfect memory and his permission, I'd recite or rewrite it here. But I don't. And I dare not paraphrase. But I will say that it was the first poem I've heard that was inspired by the death of (and perhaps dedicated to the coverage of) Anna Nicole Smith. The poem was not nearly as kitchy as its subject and a thousand times as eloquent, even when it refered to her boobs. Thanks, Mr. Blazer, for warming my cockles on an ice-thick afternoon.