He loves a pen. Is fallen on a window.
When I get ringings I join him home.
Find the window jars open. Voila,
revised cole slaw and tomato juice.
Later that very same decade
our blue binders fills with secrets.
This information relaxes weekends.
I’m attracted to the Greek fool. We
sleep around and zonk out. That’s
Zorba for ya. But the bookshards!
With friends like Mabel we love
Louise more. She says things like “I
reckon” during Nights of Caribia,
falls herself on a Fellini coffee-table.
This during meals of neorealism. In
italic diners filled with recouped anime.
East Village.
Our friends.
Afterwards a dank
little bar called Boil ’em. One sweet
conversation regarding I was really
smitten. And why wouldn’t I? He
liked that conversation too. To be so
frank and so alone. Even him on
the West Coast. We’ll just have to
talk about it. “You think you’re
too fat.” “But you’re really a
cock.” That’s when the
static stopped.
