The coffee is sloshing around in here somewhere so I’m off on
–           A very long walk through the weird part of town
Sometimes I talk to the cute girl from the UFO Death Cult
–           Which I thought was a band but apparently not
Or I check out the antique shop which has no antiques
–           Unless you count the guy on the porch

Today I am showing Chuck some of my favorite distorted walls
–           & the obstinate plants lurking around same
Most people do not associate the cactus with New Jersey
–           & yet it is here in profusion, albeit
Not the towering green barrel cactus familiar to us
–           From old Westerns & New Yorker cartoons

Chuck is raising one eyebrow when I point out the little “button” cacti
–           & muttering something under his breath, probably
‘Yeah bullshit’ although since his death I have
–           Had to hold up his end of the conversation as well as my own
& out of respect I like to give him wittier dialogue
–           Than that. But not too witty.

I know you hate this part of town, I say, but check out
–           The blue wall here, where some dude (Chuck
Always rolls his eyes when I say “dude” instead of “guy”)
–           Outlined all the blue bricks with a thick yellow
Line. And he’s painted red eyeballs on that row,
–           Maybe he’s going to do the whole wall—

This is what you mean by ‘distorted’? says Chuck. You tell me
–           We’re going to see some distorted walls,
I think: bulging. Out of true. Lopsided at least.
–           What’s wrong with, oh I dunno, VANDALIZED?
Well, I say. Maybe it’s not. Maybe the guy
–           (I could not bring myself to say “dude” again)

Owns the wall. Yeah. Unlikely. It’s sort of frustrating
–           But also sort of satisfying when Chuck
Flummoxes me these days. We move on to the next wall,
–           Decorated by the huge schematic of a
Human head, with the brain represented by an impossible
–           Labyrinth, & the various terminal cells labeled

“Desires for Worthless Things,” “False Memories,” “Indelible
–           Humiliations,” & so forth. Chuck nods
His approval. This cat is all right. I dig the cross-hatching.
–           I make a mental note to ease up on the
Beatnik lingo, Chuck-wise. There are no cactus plants
–           In this alley, just dandelions & chick weed

And me, and (today’s edition of) Chuck. I consider
–           Chatting up the UFO Death Cult girl
Just to get a reaction from him. Back in the day
–           That would have been Chuck glowering
(Politely) but sometimes he surprises me now
–           Which given the circumstances is

More than a bit counterintuitive. How can his words
–           Surprise me if they are really my words?
Are they really my words? Anyway she’s not around
–           So we mosey over to the parking lot
Of the Cankered Peach, an establishment of let’s say
–           Doubtful reputation, but with a spectacular

Rear wall. Spinning galaxies! Bulging muscles &
–           Bosoms clad in Spandex! Onomatopoeia! Rich
Tones of gold & green, artfully shaded, and not a hint
–           Of the odious teal which has of late
Polluted every screen I have touched or glimpsed.
–           This artist has spent some quality time

With Jack Kirby, Chuck tells me, I like the way
–           He spots his blacks over here. Nice. And the
Forced perspective. I am tempted to assign
–           Chuck a chef’s kiss here, but (I regret)
That could never happen so I don’t. We both
–           Affect not to notice the cactus flower

Wilting through a crack in the cement. We head for
–           The next wall on the itinerary, some manga
Girls in white boots (and they are painted white, because
–           The wall is not) which I think Chuck will enjoy
& people glance at us, wondering who I am talking to
–           As of course I do as well.