Good Bye John Gibbons

Hello John,
I've just heard that you passed away from me, from us. Sadly I missed the opportunity to share my new life with you. I never had the chance to be proudly married or share our joy with you. Sadly our last correspondence was about Warren Zevon and the Hindu Love Gods. I never said thank you for the sandwiches, or the coffee, or the time you helped Justin. I remember thanking you for helping with the beer at the ButcherShop. But I wished you would have stayed longer at the shows. I'll miss your support. I'll miss your surly laugh. I'll miss your suddenly surprisingly gone beard. I'll miss the care that you gave to the small things that made you feel happy and safe.
Perhaps later we will catch up on all of little things that make me bitch and made you laugh. I would like that. I would like to talk with you about the things that I write. I want to have you over for a dinner, share a glass of wine, a warm beer, or a bottle of scotch. I would like to hear about the way that CTA does you wrong or about your walk through the neighborhood. But until such time, until the universe tosses us back in the tank again, enjoy your quiet. I'm proud that for a brief time you were like family.
Skittles,

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Totem

Tonight is old. It's wett but current and bored. I'm watching nothing but stars in the often sky that happen... do... tonight is lame like old, young like song, even as blue... Equal after the sun, noon or scripted yellow you are to me... A we (as sound)

Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT. "Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow. Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all. Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?" There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, t

Whiskers, chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for a tidy sum of walk and now our toes are wet and cool in the Lak, beside a cool stone that could drive a modernist to their flint. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anythin

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