I Am At My Worst Trying To

And It May Be That A Crowd At A Particular Moment Of History Creates The Object To Justify Its Gathering, As It Did At The First Human Be-in And Monterey Pop And Woodstock. Or It May Be That Two Generations Of War And Surveillance Had Left People Craving The Embodiment Of Their Own Unease In The Form Of A Lone, Unsteady Man On A Slide Guitar.

Being Somewhere But Not Completely: That Was Home For Danny. . . . All He Needed Was A Cellphone Or I-access, Or Both At Once, Or Even Just A Plan To Leave Wherever He Was And Go Someplace Else Really Really Soon.

I Can't Tell If She's Actually Real, Or If She's Stopped Caring If She's Real Or Not. Or Is Not Caring What Makes A Person Real?

It's Finished. Everything Went Past, Without Me.

She Looks Like Someone I Want To Know, Or Maybe Even Be.