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I even have to ask myself, “what’s the point”. Point being large nature of complaint. Bottom line – accountability. Look, if you got in the bathtub dude, you got a problem. Selling rock on the street corner without question laws broken. Yes society weighs in. Tolerate weed, yes it’s moving in that direction. Rock smack selling pics of yr kids… you know what I mean, never. Should drunks be in prison, I mean there are guys who were busted car off parked in some lot. Questionable. The bottom line it’s your texture. Your stink. We all got it. In here everyone seems to be searching for that stank. How bad are you or how stupid. I call it a remote part of Mexico but it’s also another man’s house. “the man” a lot of these guys have no clue. Tickets for missing count in here is like not hearing a fire truck. Fire alarm. I thought I could blank out things. Well that’s a huge frustration. & then it’s the guard out to get me. No good old paranoia. Dardar paranoia. Like dud you’re an idiot. The best way of thinking life is a path on a damp beach. Everyone can see yr tracks and you think just because you’re walking away & can’t see behind you we can’t. as much as you might fall in the back ground you truly can’t. My ramble is simply do what you do realizing we all got to pay the piper. A day can’t go by without kicking myself. It’s just not me missing you it’s you missing me. It’s fucked. What brought this to the surface is yesterday I was called to property. Kelly had ordered some books from Hamilton for me; I thought “that was quick”. No. Stacy had sent me Alice Notley’s new book, In The Pines. I was so happy. Context: graham crackers are a treat in here. I just got a huge steak & a big ole cake. Case of PBR. Got it.
Thank you Stacy. Alice is a champ. A true amazing poet. A poet. Just a mountain. Her dedication is: for my sons and their friends. Now you understand? Poetry is not words. Words are rugs. Walk all over them. Shake it out and start all over again. Alice is a frontier blues traveling medicine boogie lover. They’re words from the peak. From birth. Teeth of death. Laughter of an intimate. She is quite frankly it. She’s it. She’s the kind of poet when I was younger I’d stop writing when I read her. Thankfully in an odd way I already had the addiction. Alice, I get so scared when I read you. I forget. You remind me. You teach me. I’m so happy to have this in my life. I believe my cell is comforted. Protected.