pushing cars outta the snow
they call it a blistering blizzard but it taint muchmore or less of the snow we useta get as kids and then, when snowstorm meant you couldn’t get out the door, i see your grimace through the hood mittens tied by string up through your coat, rednose poking through the elastic part of that thing we wore at our necks, pom-poms, snow pants shoes, wool socks transpiring before you got outside to snowbanks in front of your house. february. ive started reading kerouac again, boy, it had been years, ol’ ti-jean! i despise him now, the way you despise your older brother, you know you love him, really, unconditionally, i am used to his turns of tongue and ramblings, they are mine too, have been, so much so it tires me, can lonesome traveler not be something new to me, do i know you that well jack, i see you at city lights bookstore, though i dont know if ya would go or not, and i and my ramblins thru ireland my senseless streams going through the night, for a euro, that fateful day at a pub with the bard himself, how i still cant believe we sat there the two of us, speaking joual, my worries nothing then, i thought i could so easily travel the world, do you have dreams of beyond frisco, do you see as i did in tofino, tokyo, a night in a singapor port singingdrinking, the endless watery graves of chinese pirates. quitting smoking and i dont got the patience to be a wino no more or persuade 17yearolds to hitchhike with me to no-place, i dont need to shave my head, meditate neither. its so middle now, i’ll say this, but ive never and maybe only because its been what like 6 years or so and we dont really talk to her much and i doubt she would read this but marianne calls me up middle of the night as im typing on the typewriter aylmer floor, i think another booty call of post derek thinking shes a lesbian period, simon can you come now?? its urgent! i hop on one of the three unicycles in the multicoloured cons & bj t’s closet, get there shes tremblin i hold down one leg in the bed that saw us do it to bird on a wire with a matchbook sock on it, her arm starts to shake, so on, we cant take an ambulance, they cost too much she paranoys, national bank on the corner we cab it to the general, where shes telling them the meds make her feel like a monster, lying on a bed waiting for a doctor for forever i read her the poem i was typing over over backwarts over, she falls a sleep. a minute. open her eyes asks me whats happening, we walk out of there, stealing buttless garments, 4 am, i later envied such fervent craziness, in dublin, until it finally happened to me, though maybe just paranoid from smoking too much pot, and in an instant it was over, one deep breath. i been thinking about the emails i used to write from aspor2, how i never write those large elogies no more, how facebook has stolen the letter-like email, though the aspor thing was more than due for a change, but im envisioning shutting it down, so heres one from the records:
if it werent for the robert service described
wanderlust, read that poem, you’ll see, id stick
around victoria for a while, perhaps much to your
dismay, if it werent for the fact that i lost the
novel i was righting and as it were my wallet, which
in my supposition, i dont need anyway, i would
probably go to germany by way of monterey, if it wasnt
raining to day i would spend it all on strolls through
parks and walks to the university universe, the
government building is lit up with a million lights
and i have my own light inside on top of buildings
being built where we dance in dusk, when we get to
that state we realize that everyone is beautiful and
beauty, as it were, does not need words, so whatever,
happens, and we make up a new word for whatever, i
would tell it in this letter but it has no spelling,
and you know that one day we’ll meet again, maybe
thats why we keep on being friends, all through these
ages, pages of history, historically is the way we’re
s’posed to be, but your raps dont have to rhyme so
i’ll say that day will be valentine