Journal, Day 17

Ann Arbor, MI en route to Pittsburgh, PA / Anthony McCann

Driving through Ohio, from Ann Arbor to Pittsburgh. Spasms of starlings freeze in patterns of fuzzy static over the yellow fields.

I remember that starlings are not a North American bird. They were introduced to our continent by some crazy dude who decided that America needed all the birds mentioned in Shakespeare.

Erin calls today from Florida and for a moment it’s almost like she’s back with us.

Last night in Ann Arbor, another good reading. I get to meet Ken Mikolowski, who wins my unfunded prize for coolest story about giving a poetry reading. Back in the day, in Detroit, he used to read at MC5 and Stooges shows between the bands. At that point Iggy was regularly sticking his microphone down his throat and vomiting on the crowd.

And Anselm Berrigan gets now, belated but deserved, the award for best dream had on the bus. While out at the Poetry Farm he dreamt of bears on the subway.

Now pulling into Pittsburgh as I type this. Losing power soon.

Over and out