4-19-08

Im tired of smelling weed everywhere
like the second sunny spring day isnt enough.
i got a sun burn reading jack kerouac by the lake.
all the locals are out again so i have to fight
for a spot to sit. luckily there are plenty of rocks.

all the pretty girls walking with their heads
down or staring over the water trying not to
make eye contact with guys who have been
without summer skirts to stare at for months.

i kind of thought i might write a letter
but decided if I couldnt send it as soon
as it was written i might as well not bother.
besides, jackie said in my ear earlier not to
write her a letter but write her a poem.
i dont put myslef to be much of a letter writer
and im surely not a poet.

no money in my pockets for foods.
i dont know if debt is good for a sandwich or not.

a guy is practicing scales on a steinberg
bass facing the water by the fishing pier.
the every few minute octave higher climb,
notes always up never down monotony
against the waves and the workers cutting
wood and hammering fresh planks on
the floating docks for the soon to come boats.

there is a haze on the new york side
of the lake taking over the closest island.

peoples burns becoming more evident
as the day goes. its impossible to find shade
in the leave less trees at city hall park.

sitting with the costco punks, piles of vomit
and bags of metal cleaner. the white trash
in sox shirts argue about shutting their
fucking mouths and the nader bike guy
takes a break at a chess table. his swirled
neon bike now says 'end this policestate'
on one side and 'BPD David Clements'
on the other.

coffee w/ jpow, post card shopping with BD and
dinner with jmr. the moon is full again
and reminds me of things i wont speak of.

home to nurse the burn.
i think its worse than I thought.
nite.