Haze Letter (To All the Friends Back Home)

1
Lights on or off, it doesn’t matter.
The others are sleeping,
Flapping newspapers their name.
A car honks;
The only car on the street.
Straat gracht plein
These are the words of the Indians,
Who smoked grass in their pipes;
Who knew the difference
Between war and peace.


2
In the coffeeshop
I’ll come by
Say hello, hey
I’m blazed
Blitzed
Bombed at the Ritz.


3
If this folk Americano…
If this folk roll Drum…
If this folk wrap w/ a Rizla…

I’m feeling young again

Wie spåt ist es?

Yo no necesito

I’ve got my swagger back.


4
imported emotions
reimbursed, remittent
remorses

notions
potions

you were sitting by the canal
unfolding

a bicycle…


5
And yes I wait
With un-named bouquets—
For whom I’m not sure.
Is this the Supercilious Era,
Or have things just “been this way” since Pound?
Glass vase slightly chipped;
Clean pockets full of flower food;

Water, water down from the gutters;
Vision, vision reaching abroad, o’er the ocean.

Kill me off, I am a species.


6
I’m falling asleep with the light on
And no one’s awake to stop me.
Beans at breakfast, tabak after that.
Espresso is coffee and coffee here is good.
I’ve got enough wine to start a vineyard,
2 € each.

Not finishing upstairs,
Walking alone with frites.

If you weren’t the only one of record.