(The title’s stolen from a phrase of Roni Chernin. The setting
is probably Cafe Bacchanal. This is another bar room sequence,possibly between two men but then again This may serve as a pre-
lude to the Bacchanal Papers by Barbara Sheehan. Actually,the Bacchanal Papers will stand on it’s own, when completed.)
For purposes of giving the characters names (I stole these from
Barbara Sheehan (I’m an equal opportunity thief) I’ll call these
characters Bob Puddle and Bob Little)
Hey, Little, you’re not back in the sixties, man.
Sure, but dig it-
Validities don’t change. Realities remain. Dead prisoners are
still dead prisoners, American soldiers in a shattered land are still–
That’s your mask, man. The hippie soul still flies.
Hey, cuz, I was as were, as am, as will be. I may lie about
lovers but nothing important.
Will you get rewarded in old fart Ginzberg’s heaven for
spending time, you think, on souls. For not getting laid.
Will you reincarnate as a stud.. Eat, drink, and meet Sharon for
next Tuesday at 2 in the jejune morning-
Don’t quote me against myself!
At least you’re quoted, noted, if not bloated with devotees.
I can talk like you write, don’t know why I would: Hey, you’re
Broadway Bobby Little. Face it, Little, you just want people
to put your name someplace, just as long as they spell it right-
I didn’t misspell your name. The Xerox’s machine’s ego-
No, mannn. They’re spellin’ your name right. Some heres,
some theres, nothing to get rich and vicious over but, hey,
you’re gonna be a mini-star.
Let’s get back to peg one. I’m not a child of the psychotic time-
warp. I’m not this soul of indes gressions, the messenger of
failed missions, and lucre’ s nice but ain’t my ambition. All
circles close. Or they ain’ t circles.
(Will the Circle be un bro ken
By and By Lord By and By laughing). Can I carry your
story to the rest of the universe
I’ll probably die on a Chestnut Street grate at the age of 55.
But that won’t matter. We’ll all be branch libraries for
worms our covers not mattering. But it’s what we seek to seek-
Hey, Little, you scare me, man. Here’s fifty cents, go put
some rock and roll and rolling rock, on our thirsty souls. Go
shoot three games at the Dolly Parton machine.
Just let it all go, let the issues die, then-
To quote you again, my almost friend, who’ll, read you, when
you’re a library for worms?
If it all ends- in nothing, why bother?
Yes, that’s the crux and cross of it, the net and loss of it, the-
Don’t try and be me. I mean I don’t want to be me-If it
doesn’t matter, then that’s why you do it, for the doing.
I wanna sleep real well on that grate on Chestnut Street.
There’s really no reason. There just is the is.
Go play the jukebox. Get away from me.
Wait. I haven’t finished. I haven’t taught you. I mean
where does a guru go if noone follows.
Original also undated. Probably from April 9/20/84. who cares?
Probably very self-serving and indulgent. It’s a hard job but someone has to do it.
Bob Small from 9-20-84
By the way, the other Poet was Bob Ocean.