Thursday, December 13, 2012

mdcclxxxvi

at least the whistle’s at a distance

Should I open my old notebook?  It reels
from here to there in my head, cleaning a
few things (clearing a few things).  Not
really.  Nothing—neither here nor there
(unlike with him: black or white).  Beige
like Jenks’ horizon, but with littered trash
so colorful the jazz almost erupts anew
(he loves San Francisco because he plays
the saxophone) – the newest date is Dec-
ember, six and a half years ago?  Before I
think this is Mick Jagger, Mick Jagger-furious.
What am I missing from this biggish, furious
riot from over seven years ago?  I wrote some-
thing when there was nothing to write about;
though it seems I presently have EVERY-
THING to write.  Calm.  A western calm
and nothing less.