Ear Inn, Spring Street
January 19, 2002
Light: supreme optical clarity, quick-dry, scratch-resistant.
Clouds: feather-pregnant, groaning, insistent.
Exterior: A puzzle, one continuous Olde New Yorke alley.
I did not know you. You did not know me.
Interior: You. Me. Cheap-ish beer. Warm-ish tea. Sonnets.
Yours: My Dark Side, My Pain. Mine: My Best Self, My Luvox.
The possessive a tack, pinning 14 lines to the Beat wall.
Yours: Thick and celtic, crafty. 14 lines tacked outside the confessional.