Wednesday night is like all the other nights
Too far from dawn
To be taken seriously. - JM
You got a good weird on you.
Thank you. Is that an olfactory observation?
Thus began a friendship between us that could only be described as peculiar, delightful, dysfunctional, entirely rewarding. Jack was the quintessential San Francisco poet in the sixties and seventies, but lived his later years in the small mountain town of Ridgway, just a couple of hours away. He was my drunken muse, my night owl companion, my hedge fund, my kin, my smoking buddy, my cautionary tale, my poetic opposite, my introverted reflection, and my friend.
He crossed over the river yesterday. I had seen him the night before, and wished him safe passage.
I miss him already.
Who will watch the stars when we have been folded into the earth?
Pack wood and carry water, old friend, and may the horse, and the rune, and the chickadees be with you.
I'm watching the soundless Dalai Lama
And listening to Buddy Holly.
I should have been born a cigarette
With a drink of sweet water.
Maybe I was the "should have been" to come,
Or maybe just one more simple form
Of animal fun.