Saturday, December 5, 2009

I was reading The Collected Works of Billy the Kid by a well-known Canadian poet

when Jack Spicer suddenly dictated the following to me by way of an apology, illustrated by Jess:
   
     Let us fake out a frontier—a poem somebody could hide in with a sherriff's posse after him—a thousand miles of it if it is necessary for him to go a thousand miles—a poem with no hard corners, no houses to get lost in, no underwebbing of customary magic, no New York Jew salesmen of amethyst pajamas, only a place where Billy The Kid can hide when he shoots people..
              The poem. In all that distance who could recognize his face.

Again, from one ghost to another separated by miles

2 comments:

Ed Baker said...

you know, CD

for me there is a "trinity" here:

Spicer, Duncan, Whalen

Conrad DiDiodato said...

That's interesting, Ed

real living 'ghosts' seem to have infiltrated.