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Well...
I am still managing to keep my nose above the tide,
but making music is still no way to make a living.
The book is still nowhere near being finished &
my hands are black with ink.
I am so beautifully lonesome
that I don't know whether to cry
with joy or sorrow.
Yes, I know that you're in town,
& yes, I know that you still don't want to see me.
I understand, it's fine.
I will call you when you're rich & successful
& I need to borrow money.
Just like we planned.

Gonna get a job sorting mail
like Bukowski,
Go to Paris, & write a book.
I'm such a ******* cliche.

How are things your end?

Love,

E. L