I'm in Chicago. I'm drinking an iced-tea with milk in it in a coffeeshop up north on Clark St. I'm going to get picked up soon to go to DeKalb for that art opening I was trying to tell you about a few days ago. Are you coming? I'm a little anxious. My feet feel like heavy axes, my back feels like a wet 2x4, my bones are hot rusting water pipes.
2 comments:
Just think of all the firewood you can chop, just by running down the street.
Yes,you know I would definitely come because I truly believe you're the best poet of our generation. BUT, I am in the tropics, and anyhow, you have not responded to my e-mails in a long, long time. What gives?
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