Imagine Me in a Bar in Brownsville Pennsylvania

• Imagine me in a bar in Brownsville Pennsylvania.
• Autumn wind.
• Every few years like a reliable comet interest in Henry Green returns, it fascinates me. Christina Stead's The Man Who Loved Children comet used to circulate, not so much anymore. I remember a Walker Percy comet. Green's started before theirs and outlasted them. There is a reading group, a year of reading Green. Let me think about it... No, but I will read Caught, one I've never read, not necessarily right after Gass, but after Gass.
• Reading Gass. Digging in the Dark causes Dark.
• Here is a photo of Fleabus I am not going to enter in WFMU's mascot contest during their silent marathon. I blame Gass's Dark for my non-entry.

• I am enjoying POTUS now. Villagers hyperventilating! You agree with them re: Trump! 
• Reminder: You're not one of them. Triskelions could be foreclosing your ass like you're a Mon Valley steel mill. Villagers don't care.
• Escape.
• Scatagories.
• One of those years.
• How to keep an NFL team out of jail.
• When to publish as a confessionalist poet.
• On the unmasking of Elena Ferrante. I wouldn't dox the assholist doxxer, the doxfuckers.
• Steve Reich was born 80 years ago yesterday.

MYSELF WITH CATS

Henri Cole

Hanging out the wash, I visit the cats.

"I don't belong to nobody," Yang insists vulgarly.

"Yang," I reply, "you don't know nothing."

Yin, an orange tabby, agrees

but puts kindness ahead of rigid truth.

I admire her but wish she wouldn't idolize

the one who bullies her. I once did that.

Her silence speaks needles when Yang thrusts

his ugly tortoiseshell body against hers,

sprawled in my cosmos. "Really, I don't mind,"

she purrs—her eyes horizontal, her mouth

an Ionian smile, her legs crossed nobly

in front of her, a model of cat Nirvana—

"withholding his affection, he made me stronger.'