Noir by Birthright
Where am I? Not inspecting my bunker. In a rooming house, $27.50 a week, behind some gas station. Guy named Jeff Bailey runs it. What a boring life he has. What’s Not boring? Two things: the times we’re living in, and David St. John’s poem. What a poem. What a ride.
Wayne did the pictures, moving ones. This is why they used to call them The Moving Pictures. Then, after a while, they just called them The Pictures. Now, we just call them Movies.
Because during the worldwide pandemic, the badass Vulnerable Gang — Wayne Lindberg, Hilda Weiss and me — couldn’t meet face-to-face, I phoned it in. The phrase “phoning it in” will never be the same.
– Suzanne Lummis
Top image credit to www.Poetry.LA
