Tuesday, January 8, 2008


Shaved to Sweet Child of Mine. Kelly got her unc k fob. Soon Stacy with “hold fast” bracelet. My broken radio. Noah. Amanda. Evan Henry & my box of prison leather. A will a way. I prefer black. Leather. Morning. Coffee. Elaine sent journals (refused by institution. You can’t have things from home. I have no home. Besides it’s from NYC). I do get her letter. Both in my hands and in my heart. She’s great. A call for Genet. REM on radio. I prefer to sit & wait. Freedom? Define and make strong argument and perhaps I could love you. See you. Rain & snow. We’re stranded. I need a fire. Smell of smoke. Chard memory. I keep them here (point to pocket). Nothing is necessary. Needed. Pancakes. Just like my mouth in Key West. Pancakes & red wine. Caught a crab. Thought Tennessee Williams tried to pick me up. More than likely. Regret not sleeping with Ginsberg. But had just fallen for Colette. No mixed metaphors. He taught me to meditate. Fell asleep while he read Blake. Corso shared his brandy. Burroughs called my friend by the wrong name. Many years later Ginsberg in Milwaukee. Me, Evan, Colette, Noah & Bill D. went to pick him up at Mitchell. “Hi” I said. “We’ve met in Naropa”. “Yeah”, I remember”. “No you don’t”. “Yeah, you were skinnier”. Sadness. I guess we did love each other. See each other. Recognize. He had that talent. Remember, Evan was into his movie camera. Filmed Ginsberg coming down escalator. Zoom in. Out. Dizzy. Gently. Ginsberg reaches to Evan “Let me show you what Robert Frank taught me”. “Steady”. When poet becomes father. Gentle God. Beyond tongue. He knew. Me. My sons. My/this/our life. Share(d). Alice Notely told me years later, later. That summer of Naropa, her sons Anselm & Eddie tormented Corso. She had such warmth in her breath. I can still feel it. Mother. Poet. Example. Goddess. I adore women. The capacity of. The miracle. With/without birth they remain. Perfect. Perfection. I an ant at their picnic. I seek that flame. Gentle. Silent. Music. Sleep. Never silence here. Unless a storm. Yes. A storm. From that I’ll wander. Later in the white.Rain. Thickness.

I had fallen asleep after we ate. In my dream Evan came to me. Reminded me that he’s still dead. It’s good I’m in this cell. It’s like I’m within my within. Otherwise? Alex my therapist said you’re insane for 6 months after a death. I think Noah, Amanda, Anna, Emily, Tim, Jason, Miggs, Reed, Jackie, Danimal, Jimmy all wandering mad following Colette. Our confusion – anger – bitterness – sadness, parasites chewing breath. Never answer. Never. Never answered. After count I screamed in my celly’s face. I realize I need to go outside. Ice & snow dictate my wander. Snow blows as smoke rises. Smoke steam all illusions. All illusions concede to madness. I look over the yard and there were winter has conquered I recognize the sea of Japan. Grey and ignored she rests miniature. Japanese ghosts float from her water. Sound of dripping. Dripping. Plucking. There are no birds out. Where have they disappeared. To. From. Another why. Because I slip slide along. My face burns. Beard frozen I’ve become first & last in yard. I name this feeling after you. Youwhom. I’ll never know. Meet. Question. Feel heat. Give the tears I’ve saved in my pocket. You the only who knows the truth of this day. Yesterday. My tomorrow. You care? Or am I another accident. You slow take notice of. God I love Guns & Roses. Queer? Or am I just tired? Alone. Within. Without. Remain.

Asked librarian the other day , “queer books?” “What?” “Queer?” “Yes. You want homo-erotic?” “No, queer”. Anyway, it seems here they separate “certain” books. No Stein, Genet. Rimbaud. They do have Mann. Woolf. Anyway, I found some nice books – Winter Birds, Dream Boy by Jim Grimsley. Great reads. Very well written. Both heart breaking. Winter Birds sweet in it’s torture. Reminders. Just finished Edinburgh by Alexander Chee. One of my favorites. Hope I can find more by him. A must for anyone who digs a solid book. Great movements. Again, heart breaking. From here got a book on Deadwood and life in prison. Kind of like reading a book about drowning in the middle of the Pacific. These books were donated by an inmate. I’ll read them all (may 20) books like pancakes. Great against the palate. So sweet going down. Had no idea I adore both. Perhaps my love on the outs I’ll name pancake!

Well as Liddy says about the Irish say about this time, “the season is upon us”. Yes, we love each other. Homeless are grateful for a new used jacket and turkey. At least the day accomplishes something. Too bad America is more concerned with lawns not humans. Not all of course. But I see more kept lawns than needed.

Woodland Pattern is having their poetry marathon end of Jan, 2008. Check it out. Some amazing. Some sweet. Some whatever. But it’s ours. Community. Breath. Text. Use it. & It takes care of a large part of their budget. Do it & throw in an extra buck or 2 for me.

Hope all is well. Sweet. Desired. & warm. Love like there is no tomorrow.

Later & some love. Maple syrup
& Joni Mitchell.

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