—Jack Spicer
Take me out of context
and I begin to make sense.
Is why I am the puzzle
piece that never fits; got
in the wrong box somehow.
My arms and legs are pretty
banged up, thanks to this
fact. And, oh! My head!
I feel like a film depicting
an extraordinarily isolated
character. At least I have
found that there are many
such movies. They keep
me company sometimes.
But normally I write a new
novel every day. And an
entire book of poetry. I
apply for every job in the
city with open positions
which are commensurate
with the experiences I
made before I became
affixed to the occasional
silver screen (I do get to
talk to the audience on
occasion...when there is
one). Nobody calls me
for an interview, of course.
I wouldn’t exactly go
so far as to say that I
swim my life in a paint-
ing by Van Gogh. Be-
cause Van Gogh isn’t
here. I do, however, have
many photographs through
which I often pilfer. And ev-
en though this can only
be done digitally, some-
times, somehow, a
little bit of the color
from whatever era
the photos I’m skim-
ing through seem to
leak like a lost rain-
bow into my very soul.
