I went to a poetry reading tonight. I have tried and tried and tried and I hate any kind of reading. Ok, that is not true there is this guy Bill Kenower who I enjoy listening too but he gives more of motivational speeches early in the day. I hate to go out, I dislike small take, I smoke da kind and so get paranoid when people whose name I’ve remembered act like they don’t know me. Let me say it again I hate small talk, so instead I over talk, try to be honest and funny ( always a mistake grasshopper) and end up standing there red-faced. The bitch is I am 65 years old, shouldn’t I have this down by now?

I imagine a salon with good lighting and comfortable furniture. Everyone has a glass of something and that smell in the air is more than incense. There is music in the background, slow and low and hits a place in your body that drums to your beat. And at the right moment you hear someone speaking words that catch in your heart, it’s poetry.