it comes at the time when spicy held loving handled- thingwise beblooms oneself and lifts (for the very first time) its head from below the sweeping surf of the void and into the calm of chaos. a breadbasket, a wealth of promises and extremes and incessant qualities of which i know so little. sounds like many things of which i can only a brush of my hand give before forgetting myself and speaking too loudly and shattering the image which had been painstakingly mined from the earth. and then i start to feel like one of those canaries which were notmentioned but surely accompanied bastien in his search for love in the heart and center of the black earth. and then i know where this one and every one of her kind must have sprung up from and it is no surprise that my unconscious mind is practiacally overrun with them and their braided nappy hair and their earthen ebony faces and their demure french accents and their fully-contained internal riots. i pluck one from the collective unconscious—any one will do and i wonder how my great great great great grandfather first came acros s the one called patty and what he must immediately have thought of her and if it is roughly what i think when this amazing one comes in the door and says she never cared for fitzgerald. i have a hard time swallowing (and maybe its because my mouth is full of glass) my pockets full of change and i hand them off to some disabled vet standing at the corner right before the freeway. i think my dad made some cynical comment about the authenticity of the mans destitution and i commented that it sure is cold out there.