close (like LA to NY)

best house guest i ever had, females make me anxious, i guess. 4th time around, like bob dylan said. he also said obviously 5 believers, a whole bunch'a shit in don't think 2wice (all of it poignant) and in sooner or later (one of us must know) some more fairly fair fare-thee-wells, and in pledging my time he had some pov's...in sum: same dude different phases. same dude different moons, same dude different moods, same dude different typhoons, same dude different duds, same dude different planes/planes, same dude different deal...if breezy quits it all, some day, i will trudge to the top of the mountain and see him sitting there being a fake-bald man, holding still that 4% siberian face. he is either a master zen or just quietly thinking about the pizza in new york and the streets and the black jackets and the bite and the cold...new york new york not sinatra's but another kind of grey. if i had to compromise my life i'd be real bad at it, really really bad...but if i suppose if a hector of troy was involved, i might consider living in LA, too.

Vollmond

september's full moon came with a translation: "vollmond." the great dame felt her version, too. i remember one monday deciding to walk from 57th and broadway down, south, then east, towards home...to see if i could, i guess? to save $2.25? to wear my red shoes out? to think? i saw the moon move across the sky over the course of the 2 and a half hour walk . . . it attempted to fit into an array of scenarios: between buildings in union square, above a white truck towards delancey, poking the sky solo over the east river, and here, among bulbous luces over the pinkest bridge in the world ; it was less a guide than a mirror. i arrived home at 930. the moon was lost as i settled onto common ground. . .