We're all very happy for him. Here's a poem from his latest collection, Pleasure:
I bought eggplants at the farmer's market, long and slender, the deep purple reserved for nightshade, castor, the garden's poisonous brood. I was admiring the eggplant's waxy skin, its tender flesh, when a farmer thrust a tomato into my hand. I bit into the firm, red fruit, belladonna's passionate cousin, and ate it under his watchful eye. He looked at me and nodded, as if he knew how far I'd go for pleasure.
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