Distribution Automatique

Sunday, May 18


Dream of a boy. He wrote a poem in red based on bible myths- one of the myths was of a place which was like a vacuum where people couldn't speak or hear. I explain to a woman that I've read his poems and am impressed by the using of the bible in this way. He is a young boy (maybe 12). I can't remember what he looks like. I sit beside him and it is a very warm feeling. I feel happy doing this. He shows me his poems.They are beautiful. But when I explain it to the woman she is critical- the poems are old. (Actually this would make it more impressive since he would be even younger when he wrote them).

I go for a ride to pick up Whimsy. I pick her up at a house. There's mail for me- tiny letter from D, another small thing. I put Whimsy in a cab with two people, a couple, in it. Joking with the cabdriver about a word (for a homeless dog?)

What could be simpler
I waited and waited
For endless time
Nothing was happening
It's true I heard noises
Some of them music
Breathing and sighing
no one new came

One night I saw movies
and at a great distance
Someone told me a secret.
Then a few stairs
and long winding hair.

Excitement is mystery
Movement is frightening
Red leotards
and open gray eyes
Drunk on laughter we
gulped down the days
My life had changed
I forgot I was living

Gold is for rich men
and I was still poor
I saved only memories
you are their alchemist

I sometimes go outside
I always return
to my chair and my dog
and my slow empty breathing

But I'll never forget
your mysterious offering
I'd trade all my gold
for your priceless uncertainty


And what is this real world-

Exists in a surround
tiresome boring and wonderful

by a slight change in form
as if that which was contained
taking away and giving back
an event which ocurred. A detail
included in a moment of concentration, I am
accepting the every aspect of self,
one approached and drew back , they ocurred
relatively fast or slow; one wanted the past
it wasn't shaped in any particular way-
there were so many ways of going about it.
Put two and two together.

There was more . A person may be dying.
We move to the hospital. Feeling strangely
amid life and death.

Words by the lack of words I add to the world.
I'm thinking about B. From dead to living.

What do I want from him?