Here's a beautiful poem David Shapiro sent me this morning by email, and kindly gave me permission to post. Remember: you read it here first:

Lag Solo

There's a sign in my basement  Private Road.

There's a sign on my garage door: Self Closing Door.

Between the two we don't exactly live,

exactly die.

In one pocket, dust and ashes, and in the other

pocket, images.

We wear out.

And on the gifted machine a dance-mix

Or the shadow of a dance-mix:

Dance, She Cried.