Photos: Dylan, Bruce
John Abrahams, immigrant from Shakespeare & Company knows there’s no trace of space in this city. Paul dedicated his poems to the 95% of lawyers who are zeros, ”bastions of mindlesness.” Each one has their own tragedy.
Michele crossed the Italian border on the harmonic night train. A policeman searched his poems for suspicious content.
Tom told of Cribbles, the juggling fish.
John No.2 brought a found poem:
”Many maniacs talk in rhyme
Or pun for hours on end.”
Mark was Fidelma from Ireland. But why’d he have to pick on me? 😉
Troy brought the cards Hallmark rejected.
Bruce’s books won’t fade to black. Poetry is not for the straight shooter.
Rufo is closing in on zero. Are we the same that wake who slept?
Mercedes had Hemingway’s clean well-lighted place.
Eric sorted through the husks of ancestors and bottlecaps. Fever boiling the rain.
All in all a quieter, more intimate night at the tail end of the long Easter weekend. I liked it that way.
See you tonight?