do；？ Vanessa instructed； peering through the lens of her digital video camera to see if the light was
okay。 ？Can you clear some of that shit off your desk？？
Dan swept his arm over the desk and sent pens； paper clips； scraps of paper； rubber bands； books；
empty packs of unfiltered Camels； matchbooks； and empty Coke cans crashing to the
brown…carpeted floor。 They were filming in Dan？s room because that was where he usually
worked。 Besides； it was a straight shot through the park from Constance Billard on East
Ninety…third Street between Fifth and Madison to Dan？s apartment building on West Ninety…ninth
Street and West End Avenue。
？And maybe take your shirt off； too；？ Vanessa suggested。Making Poetry was going to be about
the artistic process； illustrating that whatdoesn？t go into the work is just as important as what does。
There would be lots of shots of Dan crumpling up paper and throwing it angrily across the room。
Vanessa wanted to show that writing？or creating anything； for that matter？wasn？t just a mental
exercise： it wasphysical 。 Plus； Dan had these great little muscles in his back that she couldn？t wait
to get on film。
Dan stood up and peeled off his plain black T…shirt； tossing it onto his unmade bed where the
Humphreys？ fat old cat； Marx； lay asleep on his back like a furry beached whale。 Everything
about the apartment Dan shared with his father； Rufus； an editor of lesser…known Beat poets； and
his little sister； Jenny； was unmade； falling apart； or at the very least pletely covered with cat
hair and dust bunnies。 It was a large； bright； high…ceilinged apartment； but it hadn？t been properly
cleaned in twenty years； and the crumb