Richie says: I want to have an idea of a spool of thread
That has different faces of all my friends on it.
Lost, lost, Richie, I’m lost in the present. All I have are vague memories of the past, very few and inaccurate.
Jeannie said you made me your mystery girl, but I wasn’t mysterious to me.
I wish I was mysterious to me.
Lost, lost, Jeannie, I lost you, I lost the mystery, I lost the past. What are you gonna do?
Richie I’ve got to tell you, we lost touch, but if we hadn’t, I would have to tell you
If you you want to have that idea I think you’ve had it.
Jeannie, I should have said, if you want to be mysterious to yourself let me be mysterious to you, that’s how it works. But of course I didn’t know that then. I couldn’t.
Richie says: What if you imagine at the bottom of a closet, a diagonal cut of a rubber gorilla?
Made, like Jeannie, in Hong Kong? What about that? I have added a very personal element.
But he hadn’t. It was like ocean. It was like star. It was like a logical connective: and or or.
Maybe a bloody one or one that gets blood on the sentences it connects: XOR.
I say: I don’t want to call attention to things but
If attention comes to the things on its own, good.
Whee-whee-whee not squealing but groaning. The bus breaks on Lexington Avenue.
Me, Richie, Jeannie and the strangers. Each of the strangers looks at us and thinks
From the point of view of those three teenagers WE are the strangers.
And to our dead selves in the year a million billion we are we will be alive.