D. Michael Kingsford sat on the 16th Street Mall in Denver, a matchbook stuck in the band of his fedora and a slight glint both on — and behind — his intellectual spectacles.
On a shaky stand in front of his chair sat an old-timey manual typewriter. In front of the stand was a big sign. The sign read: "PICK A TOPIC, GET A POEM."
I introduced myself and asked what poems written on the fly were going for these days.
“Whatever you care to donate,” he said.