Thursday, August 27, 2009

511. WILFERIZE THAT PUSILEER

WILFERIZE THAT PUSILEER
I chant. They sing. The snug nettles
bring back memories of other things.
The day I met James Baldwin, at
Fordham. We were carrying on, like
kids, about Sartre and degrees of
alienation - nothing ever so insipid
has ever occurred again. He had big, fat
eyes. You can go look at his picture.

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