PORTRAIT OF AN ARTIST AS A
Lived on Park Drive—sounds fancy— but overlooked the subway tracks and the vast Sears warehouse— the roar of the subway, the gray, looming Sears trucks in the distance—the trickle of the Muddy River—My window open—forgot I was nude, catcalls from the subway platform at my flabby body—bloated from the 11 to 7 shift, sitting watching the restraints— on patients— rise and fall slightly with their sedated breath—so many chests inflated, deflated...defeated. The croissants from the Savoy Baker in Audbon Circle were flaky concessions, the dark beers and dark cavernous bar at Brown’s my balm. And the elevated tracks on Harrison avenue--elevated me—I was a transcendent blur crosstown... the Dudley Bus idling near the vacant lot, rats as big as cats foraging near a fence. Sometimes I met her at the Nickelodeon,...was it the Kiss of the Spiderman...? Held her hand...traced it the way I would her body later in her studio— a rail thin graphic artist from Providence—she wrote me beautiful letters, that made me swoon in my room...