a few times on the way to work,
as I pay close attention to my breathing
like I always do when someone dies,
as if I can simply will myself
to continue when the time comes.
There's a photo of Lou Reed with Warhol
arm in arm that comes to mind and
I think about Jim's paintings, and how
I forgot to tell him that I dug the one
of Nicholson, and believe it's important
that he keep creating in this way.
I remember listening to Wild Side and
Rock 'n' Roll on Cleveland radio
in a baby blue Nova driving north
on Lake Avenue going to Lorain.
It was a clear day, and I watched
store fronts and churches on broken
concrete slide into the past outside
a rear window. I was a kid. It felt good.
We're not kids anymore, but it's cool.
There's still all this music, and art, and I
still love a drive up Lake Avenue, listening
to Lou, and seeing what you're up to...
