song of myselves

walking home today i cut thru cesar chavez plaza, a park in the center of the city and named after the great labor leader. it is also frequented by many street persons of all sorts. i was going my usual route cutting thru when i hear this woman shout, hey! hey you! i look over to her. she's sitting with several men and they all look like they've seen serious rough lives and are no strangers to sleeping in the clothes on their backs. the woman is pointing at me and says, i shit you not, i love your hair!!! and cracks up. i point back and say thanks. i told anna what happened and she told me that the homeless seem to have a thing for my hair and that maybe they just recognize me from my inner-city perambles and are just fucking with me. and i say, wistfully, maybe okay just maybe.

alan baker writes about a recent meeting last saturday with some fellow poets where each brings a text to talk about. someone brought a poem by the 17th century poet thomas bastard. you can read some of his poems here. i fucking love his name. that alone is worth the price of the anthology that baker quotes in saying that bastard was a 'a country parson who made little headway in life'. ah, the tao of the poet.

finally, there's a zine just out that published some collabs of me and jonathan hayes. check out admit2 here.