Dispatch from Hejinian

Dear Robert Adamson

we met at a dinner party at Clark Coolidge's house. Berrigan was doing his old trick 

with napkins and knives. I'd been reading what was to become known, among my friends

at least, as Mukluk poetry in a manifesto by some tall Canadian poet whose name
escapes me. I remember you were withdrawn and serious as black ice.

I'm writing to tell you that I've had it with this Red K fellow. His emails rattle into

my hard drive up to 50 times a day. I don't read them. I erase them as I would a glare

from a dying clown. Can you help me? After we'd spoken that night at Clark's,

you lightened up, and I seem to remember you saying something like "If Bunting were here..."

How can I put a stop to this sycophantic fool?  He is a nightmare.

Lyn Hejinian