RANKLE
The table is set with meaning; some
ice water sits in a globe, a few teacups
straggle about, a sugar spoon, spilled.
It's half-past ten already, and another
Bob Dylan is in town - not a fake
Bob Dylan but the real Bob Dylan -
but what other sort is there since
he's fake himself? I cast such a
conjecture overboard, like a
thin magician his cape.
-
If I put some money down, how
far will you take me, blind? Can
I go? Have I been? I read all these
other writers today, so little of
nothing again.
-
Who put it best? Nabokov?
'How much is echoed there?
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