West 4th Street station, July 23rd, 2013
I followed the man
with the French book
and the pen. Surely he
would write cause he
looks literary and a
bit crazy
but he wouldn’t stand
still so I stopped
and when he came to me
I asked him to write.
“I’m a poet. But
I couldn’t. Not now.
I couldn’t think of
anything to say, I
couldn’t. I’m too tired.
I live in
China now and
I was getting my
documents. I’m having
trouble with my partners.
Everyone wants something
for nothing.”
“Even I do.”
“Yes but I can’t now.
My mind is blank. I won’t.
If you give me your
Email, I’ll send you
something.”
“You’re reading in French?”
“Yes I went to school in
France. I wish I could
but I couldn’t.”