SPA 88, and THANK YOU
I wrote a long note yesterday thanking ON BEING and Matthew and everybody for posting and then, describing (in a small way) what it was like to read the comments, and see the photo poem prayers on that beautiful site. The note vanished, the way some things do in this incomprehensible universe of INTERNET (what does that word even mean? INTER where? What is the net that holds us?) And now it's Monday. And, here's a Monday poem.
I mentioned once before that my friend Larry Bush suggested to me once that I write a guide book in poems. I called it DON'T MISS THIS. I couldn't find an existing Guide Book in Poems (to Life maybe but not to PLACES) and I started doing that until almost everyone said TALK ABOUT UNCOMMERCIAL. Not that I ever cared at all about commercial. SO. Here's a Don't Miss This.
SPA 88 88 Fulton Street New York City
We go when we can to a sleazyish you are almost in a suburb of Moscow Russian Mafia spa (imagine the opposite of skinny spas, BIG RUSSIAN BODIES, sexy in a way that has more to do with vodka than yoga spectacular lunch many meats stuffed into dumpling shapes wonderful herring even blintzes you don't go to this spa to deny yourself anything tea with cherry jam the same tea my grandmother drank my first time there I went because I was in the neighborhood I actually sat in the jacuzzi with two very overweight religious twin brothers they were both accountants they offered to do my taxes at a discount if I was willing to travel to where they were in Brooklyn SPA 88 has people and food and rooms as hot as Russia I wish I could go there every day.