A fun change of pace from the UP with around 5 people per mile to NYC. Flew here early this morning and found my hostel in east harlem. Hot and humid but not to bad. Going to see the flamings lips this evening. Then wake up early to hunt for a visa.
Theres a pistol on the table
certainly within me theres
an overgrown thistle of a life.
Neither skies nor fingers can be counted on
Greenness or light, standing
blindly and desperately I embrace it.
In the midst of an absence-revealing wind,
still I am standing
Is it loaded or not?
Will that time come or not?
Objecting to war is fine,
but arent you objecting to humanity?
Theres a pistol on the table,
theres a pistol on the table.
Is it the promised flower?
Or is it the weight of betrayal?