Warmth

I don't know if it was the fact that it's breaking into the 50s, or because the lady at the parking dept said that my fall motorcycle permit will now be honored until June 30th, or maybe it's because I felt so damn funky after eating Chic Filet yesterday...but I was moved to pass the afternoon reading, writing, painting and watching Bugs Bunny cartoons.

Maybe it's because I'm reading wonderful student papers about themes in this big fake world. Maybe it's all just excitement because we start Drunk by Noon in my class today.



Meanwhile, it's Jack's birthday.

Here's a poem from the Book of Blues, the "Orlanda Blues" series:

20th Chorus

 Jazz killed itself
 But dont let poetry kill itself
Dont be afraid
 of the cold night air

Dont listen to instructions
When you return manuscripts to
    brownstone
dont bow & scuffle
   for Edith Wharton pioneers
or ursula major nebraska prose
just hang in your own backyard
    & laugh play pretty
     cake trombone
& if somebody gives you beads
 juju, jew, or otherwise,
sleep with em around your neck
Your dreams'll maybe better

  There's no rain,
    there's no me,
   I'm telling ya man
    sure as shit