Commentary: JD and I journeyed into the city.
It did not become a pilgrimage until he started
bringing John Cage alive across from
the bar and the bean. I zoned out to a Jasper Johns
matchsticks painting on the train.
We traveled by the rubbed charcoal of his half
and the finite streets of my mirror.
We talked about the separate yet not dissociated energy
of the canvases. I composed a piece in my own tin pan alley
a mile from Carbondale as Cage understood.
It is the hundred and one sparks when only a half
of the canvas matters at a certain stop on the station.