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17 SPEED-WALKER (in memory of Ken Eibell) We had just got thrown out of the Melrose, were making junk poems out of junk lives, midnight, waitresses, cop stops, corner punks, when we started north on Broad and I realized how fast you were walking, and always did, always two steps ahead of me, speed-walking before the name. Then you and Dan went to Montreal and dropped Blue Cheer and hallucinated rainbows. Great colors, Dan said, so you pulled out your Nikon and snapped and snapped. As he reminded you it was just a hallucination you said Yeah, but this is a really good camera. Then New year’s Eve, grabbing my arm in mid-flashback on the El you asked me if this was what death was like— A record suddenly skipping— and me telling you Calm down, it’s like nothing. Now you know. you’re still ahead. Burnt picture in a bronze gong, a still life in ash, then in water when she sprinkles you into the Ganges. Head south, commingle, tag along after your mind as it goes looking for your next body. ...

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