6/19/20 - this account is no longer active
Gluing fragments to the ceiling, watching
what shape they take—lemonade & Lenox,
Craigslist ads, your old clothes, Harlem in
the 80s, how you never wanted to leave it,
our problems with screenplays, the canon,
still, & (so much more I wish I could relay).
Now I’m trying to call you because I forget
how to write, or string together sentences
that make some sort of sense, or even use
punctuation the right way we were taught.
So it goes!
With any two people that don’t keep good
touch, there‘s bound to be years of phone
tag, voicemails, then hearsay of whoever’s
funeral has finally come first.
I used to do research for Criterion at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts. Once, while waiting for some microfilm to be brought up to me from the archives, I wrote this on a piece of paper:
“How can I extract the atoms of my dreams,
so that I may stamp & clear them for reality?”