some lines overheard

Alone in a world that so cold

But when I woke up this morning

Coulda sworn it was Judgement Day

Dream if you can a courtyard

Electric word life it means

Forever and that’s a mighty long time

Girls and Boys

He died without knowing forgiveness

Instead of asking how much of your time is left

Joy– oh my private joy–

Kiss

Life is just a party and parties weren’t meant to last

Maybe I’ll die young like heroes die

Now tell me what you’re gonna do

Once up a time

Paisley Park is in your heart

Questions in my life will be answered

Round and round

Sometimes it snows in April

Tell me baby where did I go wrong

U will see my point of

View– even if I have to scream

Why should you wait any longer

seX seX

You say “what have I have got to lose?”

go craZy

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Again I find myself

banging around in a town made of money.
Consequently, tomorrow I will set myself to
drift down, away from Discovery Green, noting
every cross street, until I reach the Museum of
Fine Arts. There they keep every perfect thing: a
Gutenberg with all the hidden gospels. A
henna etched woman, her face a prayer. The
Ishtar Gate that belongs, truthfully, to Iraq.
Jade syllables in a silk sack, to tumble out a
koan lost to imperial time. Spelled out
like this, it’s easy to think all art is like the
marbles from the Parthenon Lord Elgin claimed.
Nomads in the city, we stroll past the
organic grocery, the fine restaurant, flowering
plums in bloom: the work to be done’s a
quatrain, haphazard, unrhymed, rough and
ragged: still, I’ll go, no matter the critique,
since there I believe I’ll see the exhibit of
the earliest paintings of the Cubists, secured and
underwritten by the financiers of the trustees of the
very most exclusive of the oil men, and
when I see them, I promise you, I will
examine them so carefully,
you can’t imagine with what jealousy, with what
zoophilic logic I will acquire them for my own eye.

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