And for the rest of that week, When phones went bleep,

A grown-up's skirt from Spitalfields office black with some kind of origami sash - I could never figure how to tie it without looking like a bunny girl or gaping.

Monday, March 28- Lake Powell, Paige, Az

Just going for a walk. A hungry boy. Amphetamine eyes. Through the dark. The drizzled, slant streets of this city. The finest city. With the near dead dogs, wailing. The painted up girls,

Why don’t you leave me? Go your own way, display your tacky, outdated fares: rattle you markets, strut your fountains, roll out acres of your stairways,

An experiment. A poem made up from first lines of my other poems.

I see her dance beside the hotel’s swimming pool. A fitness instructor shrieks out commands. A stocky fellow on a rickety stool nurses his whisky and tries to avert his glance.

Another bit