Certainly, if I’d been more like Paul Bowles,
and enjoyed traveling all over the place
my writing would be a lot different,
but the problem is that travel has never really been my thing.
It’s mostly been cumbersome, scary, boring, lonely
or a combination of all of these,
and stuff I’ve seen has mostly gone in one eye and out the other,
and I hardly remember any of the people I’ve met
with the exception of a homeless guy who tried to steal my backpack
while I was sitting in the plaza in downtown San Jose, Costa Rica
and a prostitute named Fifi who I met on the Rue Saint-Denis,
who charged me 250 Francs for the worst sex I’ve ever had.
To tell the truth, I’ve written very little that was sparked
by my travels, with the exception of this poem
and maybe a couple dozen others,
which really isn’t much when you consider
that I’ve written around 3,000 poems. . .