b.z. niditch | at the enlarged eye


Andre, my driver
taking a glossy picture
of the club
blaming the sudden rain
for his punctured tires
lulled in to a stupor
from hunger
yet with Andre’s bonds
to Brussels,
he calls surreal central
waiting to meet Alain,
the new wave composer
fearful of not being late
without a passport
or jail free card
cut off
from all no exit signs
on his way from Paris
with 1968 demonstrations
on his heels,
interfering with connections
while waiting for the metro
to meet us
shaved and in a wiglet
at the jazz club
with fifty francs,
tarot cards and a watch
between us
suspected in the paper
for a crime of passion,
the manager’s daughter
Lisa,offers us a meal
when Alain drops by
here at the Enlarged Eye
all ready for the set
with his suitcase of notes
tucked in
between his arrangements,
on the run
from the police
we agree to hide
in the midnight showing
of the light comedy
“Le Depart.”

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