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Letter #23

April 14, 2012

I’m not here

among the detritus and  deleterious  diatribes

the broken strings, the taped-up wings

this wall is just a wall, not a metaphor

this is a city of mirrors

reflecting reflections  reflecting reflections


where is truth? a pointless exercise

a game of chess, a la’  Ingmar Bergman

we cribbed the answer before the question

the point is in the way we interrogate

the Universe is a lover

intractable and full of secrets

we interrogate indirectly.

Come sit. Drink tea. Or beer.

You’re so close-

your hair dams  my vision,  I’m  salting  my lips with your sweat.

Can you feel this jagged  city vibrating,

thrumming like the wood of a musical instrument


vibrato set in concrete?

In the distance we’ll  watch fireworks bloom  then dissipate



( some recent drawings)


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