Monday, March 2, 2009

Last night without gravity,
I watched Gainsbourg read Popeye
and a blind man made of grass
The man with no shoes.
I watched the blue face of the Moon
and channel 14 on a white TV.
Someone made a list of noises
and the verbs and the perky smiles
Before and After thoughts.
In June and parched dreams
The whole world slept but me,
Jotting down the words of a wet dawn:
If charlie Parker was a gunslinger
there'd be a whole lot of dead copy cats.

Seattle