Lunch with Leo Kottke


in the parking lot
in the heat
of the middle of the day
moisture rising from
an asphalt puddle
as big as one car slot
taking up the shade
of one small parking lot tree
you can see exactly what I mean
I sit, windows up
slow solar cooking
intent on hearing
just one more time
cut 7
Echoeing Gilewitz
and who the hell knows
what that is
but my insides hang
on each hung note
the slidey ride
of human fingers
running down strings
pushed against fret board
a human who
defies musical gravity
reconstructs relativity
and twists the inner organ
known for aberrant behavior
and uneven marking of time
I don’t know
it’s not about words that’s for sure
though he makes word salad
at a performance
like a random number
generator
the only performer,
only famous person
I’ve ever thought
I want to have lunch
one time
one time
to sit with this man.

on a university station
in Washington state
the afternoon after
a fumbling entry into blind knowledge
there was a sunset
like an open wound
torn and red
riveting pain and beauty
I leaned against the window
and there came 12 strings
weaving dusk to my emotion
the absence of love to its possibility
you can feel exactly what I mean
I never knew who it was
until one night
a spare ticket came my way, and there I was
at a concert
listening to controlled and trembling strings
I’d heard that once before
and there was no time no time
I don’t think I moved
and that night
walking to the dorm
the clouds were icy light
transparent wanderers
across a moon still etched
against unaltered night and all was one

now I’m in a sweltering car
listening like a child
as he plays and stops and
is that all?
and no again and stops
maybe this time?
no again and stops
and maybe…
sunset
midnight
now this asphalt picnic
proffered unto me
a shout toward noon
with Leo Kottke