Sunday, October 9, 2016


And they are as universal as yours but
maybe wider. The Linden tree, the
port garage, the place where municipal
workers sleep. You wouldn't maybe
mind the one or two, but five at a clip?
No way.
My mainstream magician has become
destitute himself : he plays cards
with the bums by St. James, where
the Strawberry Hill Sisters grow their
powdered roses. And I realize the
more I know, the less there
is, about anything.
They've sworn me to a secrecy, as
I in return have done to them. They like 
to sit and watch the Weather Channel,
where every new development is a
changed and different story.
'Hey guys,' I tell them, 'you're all
like that  yourselves  -  one wind blows
today, another blows tomorrow. You
don't need a Weather Channel for that.'
They laugh, and throw me quarters back.
In turn I give them a smile and
and buy them some time.

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