Spring '93 Collage 1. An invisible man peers in, offers his hand to shake, throttle, or excelerate to paced speeds, raceway along city streets with postcard visions, a woman with long hair smiling. I immediately failed to notice that screeching sound, a horrible sensation, a plenty of thirst, succumbing, ending. The divinities are the beckoning messengers of the godhead.
Earth is the serving bearer.
He made his living selling toothpicks which he carved as he walked through the streets during the day. When I first saw him this morning, he had part of a tree branch under his arm and he was whittling at it, leaving a trail of shavings behind on the sidewalk. Now, he was holding a coffee can, which I guess was full of toothpicks, and he was stopped at the corner and was looking at people walking by. I started playing some rhythm, hoping people would give me enough change to buy a bus ticket. I had made one buck fifty-two and had four strings left on my guitar.