the end begins with raindrops on sidewalka sign for art treckies taped to glass
breaking the silence coffee pastrami
an indie bookseller walking her dog
do i expect anyone to be my audience?
my back to the room of plants and art
percussion from hammered typewriter keys
pops in right ear like deep underwater
essence of the last single malt—laphroaig
—of last night's festival still in the glass
in my blood too in these typing fingers
chunks of fresh-cut pineapple too
way of writing performance potentially public
under watching eyes of drop-in audience
just-in-time poetry writing here and now
happy birthday sister—telephone message left
am wearing a surf joe boards t-shirt given
by her a few years back—happy coincidence
last night it was the globe inn (established
1610) burns' howff—older than nova scotia
15oct2005
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