The only real poems
I ever wrote are in
the hearts of the people
that loved them

(yes I:
wrote some poems
rode my motorcycles
loved some women
met some goddesses

Sat stone faced with the
masters after transcedning
into the light inside

came back the the West
to thrash around on the shores
of 1st world control

tried to suceed in the animal
heirarchy of lust and greed
and fear

But I may have made someone smile
eased a care of a friend
allowed some few to love me)

And my brothers in arms
and days on the rode
trying to be heroes
and outrun ghosts

(Remember when we
had the lifetime highs
of the miracle times)

She wore her life like a
a transparent garment revealing
a golden goddess too fine
to see

When we squinted our eyes
in the sunlight we could see
rainbows through feathers

A call to your higher
self

(disdain for perfection)
you hunt a primal
machine

Fullfillment of all
desires

Riders of analog machines
choking on digital miasma

I'd like to breathe the unrestricted
fumes of the 70's again.

Stop by someone's house,
let the phone ring off the hook

(stumble through forests
reading books of poetry

skip class smoking
cigs lifted off our parents

When you were gone you
were gone
no electronic grid to
hide from)

Eagle or owl
He'll  beat your
hand everytime

Can.t make rules
for an outlaw

coffee blackness
absence of machines
we held as sacred

black dog sat covered
respendant in tarhished steel
waiting to howl for anyone
with the
key

crazy enough to ingite her fuel and
ride

Whatever moment ended the
age before our minds became
locked in incessant stimulation

Was it that time we sat on a sidewalk
in someone's neighborhood at midnight
smelling of coffee and dreams

There is no bottom left to kick out
no rebellion that has not been comercialized