Though I believe he was about my age and I remember him as a lot taller than me, and I'm six feet in my shoes, David Franks' personality and creative work was so impishly mischievous he seemed to me like a little kid.
He lived and worked in Baltimore when I knew him and was still operating in that area when he passed as far as I know. One of the greatest things about him was his enthusiasm. He always made me feel like he was my biggest fan, even using that as an excuse when he totally copped the last few lines of my best known poem of that time (the 1970s) "My Life" for one of his own that he then managed to get more widely circulated than mine for a while!
But it was almost impossible to get angry at him (though I did briefly anyway) because he was such a nebbish (as I understand that term, or do I mean mensch?). He was also handsome and well built, a real movie star type, especially because he had that special kind of charisma that enthusiasts have when they seem to have more going for themselves outwardly than those they're getting all enthusiastic about, if you get what I mean.
He was a conceptual or performance artist as well—or whatever the term is now for a poet who comes up with radically unique and individual ways of expressing their creativity visually and aurally other than just reading their poetry to an audience. And he was a kind of local monument in his dedication to poetry and art in the Baltimore area, which when I knew him best included DC as well.
I'm so sorry to hear he is gone, though it seems for the best as people always say, since he had been suffering from the cancer that as I understand it was the ultimate cause of his passing. His presence was always so vibrant and energetic and positive—and from my perspective happy—that the universe feels a little heavier knowing he won't be around, at least his physical body won't be, to liven up the scene around Baltimore if and when I'm there again and for those who already, or still, are.