Tuesday, September 8, 2009
until all that remains
Again your head full of novels
you'll definitely get down on paper
one of these days. And Prague? Budapest?
Hemingway or Che? The same old questions
(only a little bit less) night after night
for years. Until all that remains
are a few old acquaintances
over hot whiskeys whispering:
"Not quite here, yet not quite there.
His life just a fence he got piles sitting on":
as through the mild October streets your hearse makes haste.
"Time Gentlemen, Please," Kevin Higgins
[Chicago Avenue at Winchester Street]
- ► 2011 (107)
- ► 2010 (115)
- if that ruins your life
- i smile and pass by
- Two new shows in October, at Myopic Books and Dove...
- i want to live like ipod people, i want to do what...
- [Dearborn Avemue at Randolph Street]
- talk trails into tattered scraps
- reminded of the beauty of gesture
- like honey in the trees
- even the buildings
- until all that remains
- such a pitch of tedium
- moving cross the borders
- air smelled of burned rubber and melted wires
- somehow lurking behind this absence
- no one hears his own remarks as prose
- ▼ September (17)