film noir – foto by smith

found this bunch of cryptic notes in my pocket pad:

rugs rot if you don’t render them right
biology as idiology
married by the mattress, nurtured by the vice
used condoms and old incense
plan mine from inner space
she sucks my secrets from me
in god we’re trussed

i try to harvest my pocket notebook often because they can unexpectedly disappear on you. our second time through barcelona, as we got on the subway, 2 pickpockets jammed me into the door in such a way that trapped me on one side of the door and my full backpack on the other. they buffetted me about a bit, pretending to read the route map above the door, and then left. as soon as i saw them walk away, i flashed “pickpocket” and felt my back pocket – my wallet-sized notebook where i write down potential poetry lines was gone. ever since, everytime i think of spain, i smile because of the poetry thieves of barcelona.

tablecloth – foto by smith

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