my travel has always been with a compass and automobile
the roads start and or end at places..
crossroads there are many...

i used to travel...heights gave a place of direction
an idea anyway
lately ive been in the same little city
forever....

but i know what its like either be behind a wheel
or walking over a hill top
and navigating towards something

relatinoships are not as simple..
but of a more diverse qaulity..

thank you..

there was a reference to an illumination round...
the procedure and protocol in such manners is correct..

if everyone knows the language
meaning..
clarity...

between the humans....it becomes the beauty of chaos
all of it a hunger..a thrill
a passion

a refrence of greater interests
and diversions

time...history
perspectives.

azimuth

its a degree of distance
like a thought
wavelength
altitude attained..

as in

"my azimuth is crap until i have my coffee in the morning and my
pain killers for this shoulder and back kicks in..oh and the cigarette"

once soaring..once rolling..flight and freedom of movement
in a more three hundred and sixty degree manner is better..
then the lowly and limited view...
or no view..

in this the poem its a direct reference to a notion
of something..
a muse
a direction
or a becoming away from
or towards...

waypoint is not even a good verb or noun
to use.....

all the angle is ..is to give refrence to a location
a pinpointing of something...

delving as always...
thank you....

funny but poets and rock stars end up with futility anger rage despondancy and death..
sexton plath morrison winehouse keruoack

as a kid i grew up with vietnam brainwashed into my head...sesame street was nothing to the
nightly news.....lately ive been sitting in my knock off american summer fatigue circa late sixties
listening to gimme shelter and white rabbit and susie q..and running radio chatter while i sit
in my fold up lawn chair beside Bunni.....helicopter gunship chatter..when i was with my father
visiting him up north on his job we had the hand held radios to the cab of the deisels pulling the
air dump sand cars for bank widening on the tracks....we had radios during flagging for Bell
Canada while line crews put up cable one winter through Algonquin Park.....Bunni calls me weird..
which suits me fine.....i like weird poets who are writing....anything...when they were describing illumination rounds dropped on parachute..My fave scene in apocalpys now by director francis ford coppula i thought of this....the pilot or maybe ground crew were describing the azimuth and its the correct term.....i do not use the language for correct anything..its like a sculpture in my head...lots of people hate sculpture...i love it! the imagery to me as a child was sculpture and now listening to what terrorized me as a kid have a meaning also....the battles were horrific...i knew a lot of people from all aspects of war.....not nice...not nice at all..but at least they were there.....i listen to those who actually were authentic and genuine.....relatioships are like things hated and loved too....if only we could put out rounds of some kind of illumination on our muses..the things we struggle to find or control or confront...try to write it into our works here.....spit it out on the keyboard like they did with the typewriter and pencils..notebooks.....a puirity......and then if you make it through that landscape...you go home...pick up with your fam..girl..no one..job..no job...etc....no battle for me but the personal ones...relationships are a strange frontier....a landscape i never left.....all of them surreal....but at least i have them....the women...the muses stay in touch....horrible...and beautiful..love and hate....i forgot to write comfort.....its in there too......the rare rare moments...
thank you!