--- L E N N Y   D E L L A R O C C A

More and more there is value in what I thought I could say. Something
for the end of the world. A microscope to the past. Peter Hamchuck
collected rocks. It was like kicking the world. I tried to say it but it
"wound up" starting the car instead. We went into the dank basement to
listen to Beatle records. A phrase attaches itself to a brain cell. The
pond once disturbed sings forever. His father's Playboy magazines were
piled two feet high. It was the first time we saw tits. Mica, Peter
said, is a rock that bends. What is loose usually is not worth catching.
It's like painted wind. A dream is everything that never happens while
you're awake. Obsidian made me think of death. You know what will be
said later. Somehow you said it before you knew you could. I thought
"sandstone" and there was an "Indian in the corner trying on my
clothes." For whom fire makes a god of wooden things. Throwing it into
the water serves no purpose. We hurt our feet in winter the ground was
so hard. Flesh had a yellow cast. My first car was a `64 Chevrolet
station wagon. The engine blew at 4 a.m. in Manhattan. It was our first
blow job by a black woman. Except maybe for Chester. When you're awake
you dream about everything. Like the time Michael and I smoked hash on
New Year's Eve. Weaving in and out of traffic with a car full of kids. A
microscope for a rear view mirror. Something I didn't say stayed with
me. Everything that could have happened is a dream. The aperture is tiny
but it takes long clear pictures. You can see forever if you never fall
asleep. You can hear the dead talking if you stay up all night
listening. It was the day Paulie burned the Christmas tree in the
backyard. A horn honking from the end of time.