Slightly so laconic,
the alibi's sneering solo

across the scotch of gossip
clearing, glamour of zilch,

better than dubious confessions
or worse, just dumb providence,

but later that rondo seems viable,
dash of 70s radio static, or slow

dancing before everyone gets boring
again, half a chance so much so,

moon glow licking lobby marble,
blocking tape flouted.

__

I'd been reading Cedar Sigo's Stranger In Town and listening to an interview with him, where he was speaking about his writing process and the influences on his work. All this made me think about when we attended Naropa together in the mid-90s and how everyone was playing with misreading, mistranslation and rediscovering Jack Spicer.