“The creative person should have
no other biography than his works.”
–B. Traven
My dirty eyes
dusted w/sunlight
hovering between
transpacific jet lag
& the last
recording of the Memphis Jug Band
I used to think
“One day I’ll just disappear in Mexico”
until I did (as,
but not like, Ambrose Bierce)
Now everything
is different
The wind
shufffing thru las palmas will never be the same
Something
about karma & liberation
which
could be better expressed by
her
damp panties pulled to one side, for example
The sky is
wearing a shiny blue suit in the green room
as seagulls
pause in mid-air
above the waves
&
all the luminous details
like
familiar faces you just can’t quite place
& never will
