I went over to Cliff's apartment last Monday in the early afternoon to record him reading from his chapbooks. Most chapbooks are beautiful to begin and Cliff's are no exception. To hold them in your hand is to feel the poet writing and producing as close to the living word as any word can get. Cliff lives across from Tompkins Square Park where he has lived ever since I moved here in 1979. Cliff and his words are a fixture, spiritual and extant. In the afternoon, the park's sounds were pleasant, skateboarders and basketball players at a distance, children's shouts, and the M8 going up and down 10th Street east and west. We recorded with the window closed and open and I found myself using a little of both.