Informant38

Ω{One time in callower days I wrote a thing riffing on somebody's metaphor, with marine applications, and worked it in that late night way you do when you're still inside the decade after adolescence. Also even from this distance and without documentation a pretty astonishing peice of controlled alienation that was a sensory record of riding the NY subway as a surf cowboy just in from Galaxy Coltrane. And posted it. To a famous poet. And waited a good month and nothing came. Bitterly disheartened but still poetically inclined I picked up a local vessel of contemporary and current belles lettres at the store. Wherein a poem and another poem was printed from that self-same poet. Which if you squinted your eyes and held that pose for long enough and let your mind run free across the swooping plain of space and time between the letters and lines you might could see the one as a form of encouraging disreply. Or not. Because the one did say "here" not "there". It did say that. And the other seemed an echo did echo the clang and fire of the Coltrane one. What I took away from that conjecturally saturated hypothetical possibility of recognition was the sense of there was a muse of that kind of activity and she was more interested in the task at hand than how her devotees felt about themselves and their little contributions to it.}