A beautiful plain lying beneath the protective shadow
         of a high range of hemlock crowded hills.
         The village set there in sunlight.
         It’s red tile roofs gleaming.
The ocean wrapped itself around the headland.
The waves hurled themselves upon the rocks.
        The bed was handmade and the polished cherry gleamed
         in the reflected light.
        His hands held an onion and a knife.
The car passed by the window.
The curtains shuttered from the breeze.
        The park was full of people.
       There were lots of voices
       and childlike movements.
Bricks are a common shape, but
they can be formed differently.
The sidewalk has cracked from the years
of roots heaving underneath.
        She entered the store by the double doors.
        Moving across the shining floor, she found quickly__
        What she was looking for.
The child’s eyes were teary and very open.
Her mother crouched before her, and
wiped the tears away_one by one.
        My Grandmother was happy once, but
        I never remember her laughing.
What is a safe?
Are banks on the edge of a river or
full of other people’s belongings?
         I see you across the room, and I don’t identify with the feeling.
        A letter to Mom and Dad would be a nice gesture.
        Would a letter to both be the same?
How do I qualify to enter a course that can help me?
Even as I appear helpless.
I change the two dimes and a nickel for the quarter in my pocket.
The glass wall is full of advertising for beer and cigarettes.
        The light changes to red, just as I enter the intersection.
        What is content?
        When it appears to me__I don’t even know why I am here.
Employment or personally requesting the job meet my needs.
I am full of the old ways and beginnings, that can’t lose.
I am ending with the same. Truth lies.
        I know you live somewhere.
        The sand in your shoes tells me you live near the beach.
        She went to school, when she was young.
       Long before she met her final fate.
How do you feel about the presence of love?
Don’t ever quit__not even for a moment.
you can stand at the top of the hill, and
watch the cars one after another_passing.
        Describe a life worth imagining.
        Mine is for sale.
        Wrongly put__I regret to say_
        that I am passing on to the other side.
The other side of what?__the page.
The newsprint on his hands is one addiction.
He didn’t know he had.
        Integration for me is the ability to see life,
        as a whole work that enjoys existence.
        Together_ I would be more than I am apart.
Part music, part words, part lies, part truth.
Pour in water, add soil and sunlight,
and there stands a moving creature waiting__
for light to fill his bones.
Spirit voicing matter.
       Skin on an arm. Part of a body.
       Non-integrated wholistic self.
       Can’t be anyhting else.
       Thinking_ as a function.
       Reaction to what you want to know.
It is a light shone into darkness.
Eyes are blind, when they see__
everything to be of the same value.
I need to see opposite__ to what I think.
      It is what I see__ that isn’t seen by me.
Punk_in a word_is style. Yuh!
The word is greek to me.
Nothing means less than zero.
      Qualitatively speaking_your hands are lovely
      And sensitive__in their holding of my apples.
      The grey, green kettle boils excitedly on the vintage stove.
      If I said everything in my thoughts is other, than what I wish.
      That would not be true. I love it all. Afterall.
      Seventeen years, since I became one day.
Today is dark, cloudy and wet.
The mist is wet with cold foregotten
Remembrances of the sea.
       Today’s format is no different,
       than yesterday’s or last year’s.
       My day’s are only my own,
       if I do somethingI hope to do again.
I am numb, but I am clothed.
My clothes are shredded newsprint and flickering cathode rays.
__from the dark night’s viewing.
         Nothing there__I see I am addicted to mouth thoughts.
         I am mashing toast and buttered sugar between my teeth.
         Pledging my_ self  to swallow before the teacher takes away my test.
Waiting for nightfall,  I  turn my back.
Lightbulbs, bare and flickering,  beneath
insulated floor joists_ just above.
Head here__The comfort of not feeling anything.
         Integrating traditional concepts of what is real.
         I know I am kidding myself__sitting and
         fooling with my contrasting aspects and pain.
         Pain so bad__There are no tears or shame.
So many unrelated things__some don’t even qualify__as things.
Farts are a pleasant noise and
they (may)escape to become
a part of the real world.
         More credit needs to be given for the endurance
                 that describes__
         what has become of reality.
Life may not be an existent course
on the real aspects of what goes wrong,
If  you don’t pay attention.
         Just commenting__
        but I am an interactive bloke, afterall.
        The softness of her breast encouraged his heart to let go,
        and be with her__his soft light_without.
        Politics being inadequate to the caress.
Language__that is not your own.
Who can blame the interpreter.
Don’t exist in me.
I won’t claim my part,
that was you.
        Which is exactly__ my point.
        It is time to carry on.
        My whole life has been real.
Even the parts I faked.
Can’t claim_
I didn’t know.
         So for all of that,
         my seal is,
         I now love __
        I didn’t claim.
May God bless every memory,
and forgive me
for my lack of intention.
I am reclaiming,
what I called the death of me.
         To know __
         That life is real.
         Breath of You.
Trust the Rust__Oct,1990