The other night, sitting on a couch at the Tea Lounge, listening to some live music, a thin, little book showed itself to me.  Plain black cover.  I picked it up, and perused.


At the end of the night, the servers came and cleared the table; everything but the book.  I didn't think it was very normal for the Tea Lounge to leave out literature like that for customers to enjoy, so I took it!  Thinking back, maybe I should've left it with the employees, but my senses told me that it would only be left in some cardboard box alongside a winter hat and a few broken umbrellas for years and years to come.  It disturbs me when books are left unread and unloved.  At least with me, it would be cared for.

One poem stuck out to me.  It's been sitting on my music stand now since I pulled it out of my bag yesterday.

by Dennis Lee

And the unredeemable names
devolve in their
liminal slouch to abyss.
I gather the crumbs of hiatus.

The blank where evil held.
The hole called beholden.

That phantom glyphs resound, that
lacunae be burnished.
That it not be leached from memory: once,
earth meant otherly.

I admit that I had to look up a couple of those words.  But I really like this poem.  It's become the text for today's improv.  (Day 200!  I kind of can't believe it.)  A lot of the phrases are switched around.  And it's clear, now, that if I'm gonna sing anymore, I've got to improve my enunciation.  Even I can't understand what I'm singing half the time.  Disclaimer: voice cracks and out of tune pitches.

Here we go, Day 200: https://ia600807.us.archive.org/12/items/Improv3112/20120301214507.mp3