Theresa Luttenegger

My stories of Bill are so tender and intimate and feel best honored held closely to my heart. But I want to share a poem he wrote for me when I was going through a painful time and my beloved dog was dying. I remembered it after I heard he had passed and it brought me enormous comfort. Nine AM Construction Site or Lord Mukpo's Forehead Scream of a saw then the board drops. The men will be paid and the condos will sell. Bukowski wouldn't approve of that kind of value-added but he'd understand your dog's slow death and nod to it. One needs his uncompromising language sometimes, to get at one's own latest floorboard above the free-fall. Sometimes a layer of grief, depression, self-axing, or a ten-year long chewed over narrative. It doesn't matter how noxious the stain, when the floorboard breaks the fall is an infinite homecoming. ~Bill Scheffel
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Walter hitchhiked from Philly to Boulder in 1974. He seems confused about what happened after that.