We all build portraits, meaning we all try to encapsulate and thus punctuate time. Why? Because, who among us can swallow eternity whole?

Sitting at an outside table at the Bassett Café on West Broadway, I remember, in the background always the Twin Towers behind me in the photographs from that time And the sparrows in New York, bolder than anywhere working over the scrap

i mean the perfect setting is great and all the right lighting very little the right music she says kings of leon i say broken social scene with nothing but time and a large bed with balled up sheets and us but i love early morning fluorescent bathroom light…

When we were on the road coming back out to California, along the Lewis and Clark trail somewhere near Cardwell, Montana, I remember thinking life was like leaping through flames while reading poetry and drinking rotgut red wine. This was what life was, a

dancing in a paper skirt/tarting up the mold

you choose to be mine when you take hold of my hand - silently, i'm yours

There was a whole group of us Young Turk poets who hung out at the Savoy Tivoli in North Beach. Most of them drove cabs, (whereas I was now working in a damned gas station for Angel, my publisher’s man, who got me a job there.) They would double-park th

The gates going up and down like gigantic windshield wipers to let the existent boxcars pass. We went across these real bumpy railroad tracks into a town so small there wasn’t enough room for the car so we got out and went ahea