A marshmallow?
11.
We usually read poems at Bookworks, on Mission Street. Jack spouts things in Russian, I think. Or it could be Italian. A ton of Jack’s poems are translated into Italian and probably in Russian. He says, I remind him of Mayakovsky. Look up Mayakovsky. He’s a hacksaw, every word can cut down a usurper’s statue in 3.7. seconds. Jack is into that groove. I think all of us are into that groove. Against Power & Colonization here in the District. Everything else is a Marshmallow. How would you like go to work in a factory of Marshmallows wearing a Marshmallow suit carrying a lunch pale of Marshmallow sandwiches, thinking about Marshmallows?
Jack lives in a tiny apartment on Broadway. A cool cat. Black coffee. One thousand poems. One tiny typewriter. One thousand Beatniks with a beret. I love Jack.
Fresno Writers dot com 