At ERC, again

In Amy's 106 class, Role playing: Interview practice.
Jake to Ed: What's your passion [gesures with hands]
Ed: Drugs.


It's hard to miss Boston
when the air is wet like this
and the pipes are exposed
on the ceiling of the coffee shop.

I have a palimpsest of buses
of brick-walled dim rooms
of expressivist photography, of harmonies,
each layer denies the other
each sip stops my breath like the first.

I would have kissed him,
you, if not for the trench coat's smoothness
against my gloves.
I would have enshrined you there,
poised, suspeneded by the quarter note triplets.

Il n'y a pas de hors-text.
Il n'y a pas de l'or text.
Il n'y a que mon text.
La texte, c'est moi.
Et personne ne lis cette texte la.