RIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TV
RIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TV
RIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TV
RIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TVRIP-TV
2005-12-03
John Lee Hooker
B. 8.22.1917 Clarksdale, Mississippi / D. 6.21.2001 Los Altos, California
In sleep
Serves me right
that I forgot my book, my thick fresh slabs of a first reading of Sons and Lovers, and have to grit my teeth against the surge of reading juices and subside, unsatisfied, against my own devices.
Serves me right to suffer
those devices, these, mine, matchstick flimsy, scratchings out of time. They rasp like insect casings in a child's forgotten jar, rattle like the half-cup left to hump the bottom of an instant coffee single-serving packet foil.
Serves me right to be alone
alone again to scribble on the train. I lean into the heaving night-striped side of Brooklyn; the pail between our legs chirps chirrups, a tin cricket.
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