Colin. Reading Michael McClure. With a British accent. Actually I highly doubt that the accent was anywhere near British, probably bordering on that of an insane elderly person from Nantucket. Either way, it was weird, man. Plus he read the poems while standing atop a crypt before a blue ridge of mountains that slightly resembled a coming tsunami.
Anyways, it was mildly entertaining.
In the words of McClure himself, “Ngnngngngnan”
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