Sunday morning, I wake up to a rain washed sky and air that is steadily become cooler. There is so much silence at this window and more than silence, stilness. This in the place of last night's agitation. How soon the stroms pass, the rain falls and the sun comes out. Everything is it's place.

Last evening I spent wandering around the bookstore. I walked down to it, a distance of a little over 4 miles. That road, Ponce, depresses me every time I walk down it. Whores, winos, drug pushers, staring vacant eyes, deep blue eyes behind a veil of smoke, probing asking a question, what do you want and how much will you pay for that? Folks shuffling down the stained sidewalks, "Howdy brother? Got a dollar?". Smell: there is a smell to that road, smell of smoke, urine, of vomit, of spilt beer. I was thinking of De Niro in "The Taxidriver" and his dialogue, "I wish that these streets are washed clean".

But then I caught myself, am I any different from these shells, these hulks that were floating up and down the street? Don't the same rivers, except maybe in a transformed sense run within me? I am listening to Tracy Chapman's New Begining as I write this and as I do, I recall the various emotions that were coursing through my body. Anger, humilation, lounging and loneliness. Are there any different from what those winos on the street feel, day in and day out? This is too much noise and I am tuning out for now. On to Tracy's beutiful song....

........remembering your touch, your kiss, your warm embrace I will find my way back to you, please say that "I will be waiting for you"......

may i feel said he (i'll squeal said she just once said he) it's fun said she (may i touch said he how much said she a lot said he) why not said she (let's go said he not too far said she what' s too far said he where you are said she) may i stay said he (which way said she like this said he if you kiss said she may i move said he is it love said she) if you' re willing said he (but you' re killing said she but it's life said he but your wife said she now said he) ow said she (tiptop said he don't stop said she oh no said he) go slow said she (cccome? said he ummm said she) you' re divine-!said he (you are mine said she)

lol! wonderful poem about something which is wonderful!!

i am walking out in the rain and i am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again and i am getting nowhere with you and i can't let it go and i can't get through... the old woman behind the pink curtains and the closed door on the first floor she's listening through the air shaft to see how long our swan song can last and both hands now use both hands oh, no don't close your eyes i am writing graffiti on your body i am drawing the story of how hard we tried i am watching your chest rise and fall like the tides of my life, and the rest of it all and your bones have been my bedframe and your flesh has been my pillow i am waiting for sleep to offer up the deep with both hands in each other's shadows we grew less and less tall and eventually our theories couldn't explain it all and i'm recording our history now on the bedroom wall and when we leave the landlord will come and paint over it all and i am walking out in the rain and i am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again and i am getting nowhere with you and i can't let it go and i can't get through so now use both hands please use both hands oh, no don't close your eyes i am writing graffiti on your body i am drawing the story of how hard we tried hard we tried how hard we tried