main street

some pretend to be

billy the kid or

jessie james.

some think they are

buddha, jesus or kerouac.

there are those

happy being themselves,

others are schizophrenic .

some are americans,

most are not.

some have survived wars,

car crashes, and hate.

some will take their last

breath tomorrow.

others may live forever.

digressing inside a poem.

zafu forever

would you give away your eyes

so someone else could see,

a thousand miles beyond where

forests hide behind trees?

would you give up your hands

so another man can feel,

vibration of naked flesh

beneath tattered feathers?

would you drop to your knees

to worship at another man’s altar?

would you share your spirit if

another man’s was broken?

if you couldn’t sing and dance

would your heartbeat still matter?

could poetry be found in

a discarded conversation?

could you set the moon on fire

if the sun should melt away?

would you share your soul

with someone that was lost?

do you believe in things that

are invisible? if you had nothing

to say what does that say about

you? if there was no place to go

where would you sit on your

zafu forever?

tomorrow is just yesterday ahead of itself

half-way through living,

he forgot what being alive was.

he walked backwards

so he’d never know

what the future would be.

he’d sit and watch

the grass growing

beneath his feet,

and watch butterflies and blue jays

fly away.

he swatted at things that circled

inside his head.

everyone said he was happy,

but they never knew about the vistaril.

he shook the hands that fed him.

he sang with the sea and knew

the lyrics of every song.

he has seen the tulips waking up,

the sun melting the moon,

the leaf letting go of the branch,

and everything die.

tomorrow is always behind him.

wild flowers

be lost in it, a field

of wild flowers. a

world pleasing the

aesthetic senses.

its shapes, color and

form, cures unwise

nervousness of the

heart, the agitation

of the spirit, a lunatic

thought. nothing is

normal. the most

beautiful sleep naked

beneath the summer

stars, it’s free poetic

verse of socialism.

the lemon queen

sunflower, the crimson

clover and the purple

coneflower, the prairie

aster and black-eyed

susan, the standing

cypress and evening

primrose share

the soil and rain.

together they

persevere through

the festivals of

the seasons. the

butterflies, honey

bees and red-wing

black birds cavort

with the blooms.

delicate creatures

are concealed from

predators circling in

the sky. the equality

of nature, be lost

in it, a kingdom

of untamed flowers.