Currently, I have about forty pages toward a second poetry collection. The collection is entitled The Rooster King and begins where my first collection, The Green Squall, ends: in the ruins of a once-flourishing garden. From the ruins of that garden, the poems in my second collection seem to be moving outward into the human world and, from there, into the ether and the nether-heavens where angels still bicker over the relative merits of humankind.