ailing dog...empathy shakes me awake
from the beautiful dream
I remember my long haul trucker with
the straight up drawl
his lungs shot
sixty two into first year retirement
lungs failing severe and fast
leaning into me steadying himself
the fear in his eyes
more then all his travels and
what transpired from the windshield
all the power and control in that
manifest never prepares us for
the wrath of existance in its raw
and somehow mortal evidance
of our moral and mental fragile
dance of being

we were well off..we did not live
hard lives like our parents did
so they moved upon our shoulders
the weight of concience via television
after tv dinners and burgers from the
grill...the chill of the lake on us
the tins of fresh kp like sodas and
fathers stubbie beers..mothers
egg hour derves the cottage raw but
not primitive...the television news
replaced of the bright bauble soundtrack
laughs to the news clips of vietnam we
were raised with..i started to remember
the anti war indoctrine..backed up with
the technicolor...the music shows of
ed sullivan..mommas and the poppas
smothers brothers....the era of long
hair and protests..violence and societies
cusp...freedom of expression...freedom
of rights...freedom to be violent for
its sake of right....the right to feel
to see mothers tears...suffered through
the war years watching their teenage
friends sign up volunteer come back
but changed forever their innocence
removed and fate one month in country
of home stepped in and took my fathers
best friend in a foggy head on accident

here is the church...here is steeple
open the doors and see all the people
later while dishes washed from the cool
untainted pump water not doused with
chemical we played gin rummy..sitting
on our parents knees..taking their
smoke breaks while the same red sun
went down on our turn of the spinning
globe..pajamas and stove snacks
while the then eleven oclock news hit
you are safe...but you are not safe
the illusion of birth age circumstance
and glory filled with technicolor gory
of the tentative roll chance has on
all man of color race and creed..
contra times in eighties..south america
corporate explosion atlantic city
the boomers and zoomers at their peak
like post war america
the Twist dying down replaced to disco

aura intact...
never lose the touch of that
hold dear to lifes precious
commodity and hold reason
no matter how large or small

w

thanks man...

well...been raining on and off for a long spell
and as i write..think the big snowy flakes are
drifting down...like a late December it feels
out there...town mood has been upbeat
more tighter..drawn in...riding over last
week it poured rain...steaming from the
pavement...a mist but a cold cold one
my fingers frozen....if i was in the woods
for more then the day without shelter
it would be hypothermia game over
and with no fire...a perishable go..
the long haul of winter makes it
impossible fo be any kind of woodsy
squatter..but many summer ones
pop up now and then..they are much
frowned upon...more viable to hop
on the system..to ask for subsidies
be the masses accounted for..

before we turn
engaging silence to
the task...
no one spoke
machine our yoke
gunner hand
on the butterfly
more fluid with
his toke
...

somewhere i have
wool cardigan
wool socks
the romanian
chinese nomadic
bunny fur hat
drop another twenty
pounds and the wolf
cheekbones emerge
moustace longer for
that drab vlad look

a tin for smokes
a taste of future summer
no fear of spring brush
fires...

dumping coffee into me
and cigarettes..running
on bad nerves and soggy
hope but hanging on...

W

exhaustion...stress...helps a lot..
that frantic state..the vortex
of the hurricane..

W