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2001-07-19 || 4:22 p.m. || my poet friend || in the grand rusty bicycle wheel cycle of novel reading, i have landed back in my favorite man-friend's arms. sweet richard brautigan, let me refasten your buttons for you. let me take your glasses off your nose and clean them with the bottom of my shirt. let me make you some tea. i drew this picture for you, it is my cat. i was reading the abortion again on a bench on campus and a man asked me for a cigarette. i gave him one and he sat down next to me and asked if i liked american music. he said he was a songwriter and could he sing a song for me? i said yes. i looked at his shoes as he sang 5 verses. they were construction boots with the toes wearing thin and full of stains. greasy droplets. dirt in the cracks. when i looked up back at his face, after he had finished singing, there was an oil slick under his left eye from a tear drop. he told me he was a poet. he told me he had been laid off. he said he had gone to the hospital once and they kept him there against his will, in a mental facility, just because his 'vibe was so beautiful.' we talked about being an artist. he asked where the library was. i got up to go back to work and he got up to go to the library. we walked in parallel lines and every twenty feet or so he would wave and say 'have a good day' or 'i just wanted to give you something, hope you don't mind' or 'see you later.' he had beautiful eyelashes. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |