Riding Mr. Fanelli
    for Charles Bernstein

Look at this photo.
It's in a station
on a street. 1979. You could say
that it's interesting in
the way that
Pudge Rodriguez standing over
a stack of pancakes is
interesting. Mr. Fanelli,
there's a mountain and
a comb and they're walking
down a street. 1979. And what happens
is so disagreeable that despite
the tiny cries
of a million tiny people
one still cannot see the hand
cream or the kielbasa
that moves parallel to
what is permitted and
adjacent to what is intended and
loping along to what
feels like a cry for help,
untransmitted. Mr.
Fanelli - there's a
gentle mountain lying dormant
in the station, in the street. It's 1979.
And my point is trite,
but think about it. I don't have
a sandwich and I don't know
where it is. Mr.
Fanelli, do you think that
you could take your finger from the trigger
and we'd both feel more comfortable because
as they say, subtlety is the
rudest form of vanity, especially
today with all these express trains
passing rudely by the streets
every fucking minute, when the
trains actually do run on time?
You've got to admit, Mr. Fanelli, that
thinking about a station, about a street,
about 1979 is the most imbecilic state
you could be in tonight
or even in the day.

    (work in progress)