going thru files I uncoverd this poem. I was askd by Akron Art Institute (its pre-museum name) to be part of "Concept" a day's activities which included a performance by a local band by the name of DEVO.
investigating collaborations of poets I wrote a line & sent it to Paul Metcalf asking him to write the next line & send it on till there were 10 lines by 10 poets.
here's the result:
she pulled from her packsack
a sixpack of mead, a wineskin of sack
the bricabrac of her life and a used valentine
"I donno," she said, "this perfect
ly sibilant tree that shades me
drinks up the moon with many a mouth
cries back at me" her numbers, lights
alarmed, spawn dark fires chewing
darkness, "your heat makes pink tongues brittle, voices
bald like an old brunette's heart."