Jim Carroll (August 1, 1950 – September 11, 2009) In the course of working together, Jim and I discovered two powerful bonds. The first that we both had August birthdays, born under a scorching sun. The second was a great delight in the numerals on the clock coming up in wonderful combinations like cherries on a slot machine. Whenever we spoke, we would mention recent sightings. Jim often awoke in the middle of the night at exactly 2:22 or 4:44. We loved it when four numbers in a row came up such as 11:11, or, most exciting, the clock’s equivalent of a royal flush, 12:34. His voice full of relish and mystery, he would always exclaim, “ah, a most propitious hour.”
Betsy Lerner 
I’m so sorry. I saw him only twice, but I loved him. My sympathies.
A great book. I loved it. This is sad.
I read that he died at his desk. That’s the way to go — the writer’s way.
Sad. A spent a week at Naropa in Boulder when he taught a one-week summer course and he was electrifying.
And he read a story I think called “A Day At The Races” which was one of the funniest I’ve ever heard.
I met Jim Carroll in Greenwich Village. A book of his had just come out and we went and had coffee. We sat there at a coffee bar and spoke about poetry later we walked back out onto the long road.