• Tom

John Cage on Silence

I so often think of John, sitting in his sunlit NYC apartment on 6th, listening attentively out his window to what others would call noise; but to him, it was all poetry as he needed it.

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Bus terminal. Greying hair as thick as straw, You shave in the sink Before you fall black and down On the cold-smeared-shit tiling of the Greyhound bathroom. There is no life before Fent, she said. He