Alex de Campi: Gojira!

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5.6.05 Interlude, with John B

My local, Sunday afternoon. Somebody - no, I don't know who - plays ragtime on the old piano. ('One of the wits of the school', your chum would say - Hot diggity! - What the hell went wrong for you, Miss Emily?) The rhythms point counterpoint my old book of Berryman's, verse irregular and passionate - (You sailed in sky-high, with your speech askew But marvellous, and talked like mad for hours, Slamming and blessing)

I curl on the leather sofa, London outside undecided between summer and rain. This time of year, it always starts bright and new, but wet by afternoon, sure as any sure thing. (Grey rooms all day, green streets I visited, Blazed with you possible; other voices bred Yours in my quick ear; when the rain was cold Shiver it might make shoulders I behold Sloping through kite-slipt hours, tingling)

They know me here. Me and my dog. Know me enough to smile when I come in, enough to look away when on the last stanza of Purgatory I begin to cry, sure as any sure thing. (O my brave dear lady, yes I will. This is it. I certainly will miss at 6.25pm. you.

And if you can carry on so, so maybe can I)

The football. A pint of cider. Heap of newspaper, allsorts, messy and off their table. The fine art of being alone in company. I page on. (Scribbled me once, it's around somewhere or other, word of their 'Edna Millay cottage' at Laugharne, saying come down to and disarm a while, and down many a few -)

Well. Sunday afternoon, I'm in the W-, (drinking your ditties and (dear) they are alive, - more so than (bless her) Miss F who teaches farmers' red daughters & their beaux my ditties and yours & yours &) a man plays the best damn ragtime piano as the old air outside grows grey and soft, sure as every sure thing. Tell me: who would leave this town?

(O down many a few, old friend, and down many

a

few)

( 11:25 AM )

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