The first time I saw the Mississippi
Was from a hillside above Genoa
Wisconsin on a visit on a whim
To my genius friend struggling
For a place for his brilliance
To land he had found the story
Of Gilgamesh and planned
To make a modern movie of it
He showed me his first magical slides
And played me the synthesized
Music that would accompany them
All I remember is one
Of a wheelchair flying over the moon
Whatever that could mean
He had a flair for irony
A startling wit and a taste
For drinking me under the table
He traveled the country until
We lost track of one another
But then years later he called
Drunk in the middle of the night
Lost and crying incoherently
Until I had to hang up on him
And weep for Enkidu dying
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