“Sure, I’ll be discreet. I’m even discreet with myself.”
Is it immature to still desire (require) a thorough reading
of my own work (by somebody else)? A particularly
absurd and violent Sunday in an orange San Francisco.
Two cloves of garlic into the pot of sliced zucchini,
salt and pepper to taste. Can’t seem to pull anything
out of the air; instead, while away the afternoon with
Jack Collom and Lyn Hejinian interview, time enough
to pick up a grocery item or two, wash the dishes,
a fragmented life. Acupuncture consultation tomorrow.
