This is a poem I wrote months ago on a scrap of brown paper grocery bag, on the hood of a stranger’s car parked on Paris Street in San Francisco:

Any poem can sit unfinished in a typewriter for hours,
days.
Sometimes you wait for the next word to strike.
Sometimes you sit down and think,
hard,
about what to do next.

The back of this scrap of paper has the name Michel Bouquet, who I saw in the film Manon. I don’t remember why I wrote down his name.

P.S. a good find from the forementioned open mic is filmmaker Arthur Valverde. I especially liked this film.