Three little birds bathe in a dirty
puddle formed on gravel, proving
everyone has to deal
with what now while
dreaming better days.
My new room is bigger
but the walls are more
thin. Right now I can
hear neighbors fucking
& a baby crying.
Notes such as this,
sketching
vague concepts are
problematic dinosaur
eggs. Porcupine trees
of unfulfilled dissonance.
Don’t touch.
If you do touch, nothing
is going to happen; not
now; not tomorrow; no.
But here’s another, before bed:
A local drunk with a ponytail
offered me a pipe full of weed
grown on his west-side farm.
He didn’t have much to say, really.
We talked about how there is no Dead
without Jerry. How nitrous balloons
are dangerous to scenes & individuals.
About the city & about Monroe Avenue:
“there’s been a blackout
or two on our avenue”.
After we said farewell I didn’t black out.
I did not get killed in a drive-by shooting,
nor did I die in my sleep, or while shitting.
I did alright.
I just got into bed
and thought about What Cheer, Iowa,
and how that was the name of a place,
where people lived, and those people
wrote What Cheer, Iowa, on envelopes.
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