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letra de the artist - mark kozelek

i watched the kid through the glass
carefully slicing the wheat rolls apart
slicing the marinated bell peppers, the sun-dried tomatoes
slicing the mozzarella, specifically picking each piece meticulously
placing each piece on the countertop neatly
laying it all out on the bread orderly, studiously
folding the sliced bread back together with mathematical precision
as if he were an emergency room surgeon
as if each move he made were a life or death decision

he was focused and relaxed, his hands steady, like a master painter dipping his brush in the paint
you were in a spell watching him create
i had goosebumps watching him create
i said to you, “that kid’s an artist”
and you said, “i know”, while you stood there wowed
i said, “i’ve never seen anyone make sandwiches that i’ve considered an artist until just now”

after lunch, i held a cab at columbus and broadway, and we kissed goodbye
i got into the cab on the new sun hong kong side
the driver asked, “how is your day going?”
i said, “it just started”
he said, “your’s was just ending”
i said, “where’s your accent from?”
and you said you were brazilian

i asked, “where from in brazil?”
you said, “the capital, brasilia”
and for the last 19 years you’ve lived down the coast in pacifica
with your 20 year old son and your husband who is also brazilian
through the broadway tunnel, we talked a lot
down high street, we talked a lot
and more in the taxi for an extra 10 minutes when it stopped
i said, “i gotta say, i don’t end up in conversations a lot”
you said, “me neither, this city has changed a lot
people don’t want to be bothered when they’re immersed in their contraptions
they don’t want to be troubled with human interaction
they never say, ‘good morning’
they never say, ‘how are you?’
they say, ‘take me there, take me here’”

i guessed your age at 40, you said 43
and i got your number for the next time i need a taxi
for when i need a taxi
you said, “it’s nice to meet you, mark”
i said, “it’s nice to meet you, eileen”

in my pocket is an old paperback night train
i bought it while on tour in the uk
the pages are all yellow, musty smelling, and falling out
it took me about a week to figure that part out
it was in a box from just before i knew you
right above stories from the corner by f. x. toole
the copyright on most of the books in that stack ranges from 1998 to 2002
it was the only book in the stack where, from its binding, the pages were becoming unglued
i remember dropping it in the bath while reading it, trying to get some sp-ce away from you
i think that these books were stashed away so i could make room for you
and i still remember that summer night when your mother died
down to the hour and minute, and how you grieved
there was a book in the stack called a time to grieve
the condition, somehow, after all these years, is pristine
its copyright is 1983
though this is the later edition bought brand new on polk street
given to me as a gift when i was grieving too much to read
i’ll never read this book because i don’t believe
that grieving can be processed by reading a book about the process of grieving

so yeah, i’m rereading about the life and times of sonny liston
there’s always conflict, darkness, trouble, tension, and friction
i’ll never forget that sonny loved children
he was sincerely a good person around children
and he gave them friendship, goodness, and kindness
things unprovided to him in his miserable childhood

lots and lots about the city sinkers and crooked cops harassing sonny in st. louis
his dealings with carpet and pu laminate in st. louis
his fights with white hoods in st. louis
it’s been so long since i’ve been to st. louis
i played a few shows in the 90s in st. louis
i attended a wedding once in st. louis
and nothing much ever stood out about st. louis
there’s so much in this book about st. louis
that i’m intrigued now, and sort of planning a trip to st. louis
if it wasn’t for that old stash of books i found
that filled me with a blueness that flooded me with memories of the newness
of a passion so strong that ended in resentment and anguish
i’d have no plans to revisit st. louis
but first there’s things i gotta get out of the way
plans that wait on me, going to san francisco sunday
on may 7th, i’ll be flying overseas for a tour of j-pan, australia, and new zealand
at the speed i read, i’ll probably have the sonny liston book with me
and for that ride to the airport, i’m probably gonna call eileen

after eating a sandwich with you on the corner of broadway and columbus
a sandwich hopefully made by the artist who inspired me, who planted a seed
to what has grown into this melody tree
music is the air i breathe

tonight for dinner, nathan ate mexican on polk street
i came home and ate cucumber and hummus
i need to watch what i eat
music is the air i breathe, i find poetry in everything i see
out my window, i saw a barge with three large letters: msc
i wonder what those letters stand for, what does the barge carry?
chemicals for the refineries? gifts for the gift shops on grant street?
canned products for animals to eat? whatever they carry, it’s always nice to see
barges slowly moving through the bay
going under bridge and moving out to sea

- mark kozelek

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