It's a miracle that I met you
(better than anything)
Better than Pune
Better than Love

If I was to beleive all the stories we tell ourselves
(...and I do)
That would mean we are fated for each other
and that our love is simply a ripe fresh apple
waiting to be devoured by lush hungry mouths

(which in turn would be the imbibing of infinite
nourishment.
infinite
knowledge.
infinite g0d-given splendor

All last summer
I rode for you
(took you with me every mile)

narrated the beauty of all I saw
(wrote you poems and soul~letters)
you were my dream

Didn't think you'd really come true
(it was enough to absorb your soul into the
pores of my being)

...then you flew over the ocean
and showed up @ my door
(seemed like you knocked it over)

(you got a smile that could open windows
and fill up the gas-tanks of cars)

...and there is no separation
she already melted into his life
(and he already let his soul slip inside of
hers)

Some a them poets
and authors were crazy I hear
Chaucer was accused of rape
(Shakespeare of being queer)

Hunter S. Thompson waived guns in
a lotta faces
(but the only one he ever blew off was his
own)

Then you got Kesey hangin out with the Frisco Angels
(when they was the only angels)
and Ginsburg taking his clothes off and starving in
India (starving everywhere)

And Kerouac drinking right into his early grave
(lived with his mother all the while)
and Plath and Sexton
took themselves out
( an oven and a car respectively)

Cervantes must have been mad
after the wars and the piracy
and the prisons and the slavery
(must have been madder than old Sancho and Quixote
themselves)

Then you got the preachers on the corner
and the brown bottle bums and the psychos
in the park
(eyes glazed with a thousand yard stare
spewing maniacal ramblings to no one

Them is some of the best poets ain't nobody
ever heard of)

they told me I was free
(let me be anything/everything
I ever wanted to be)

Ran wild
& nothing could kill me
(magic like CrazyHorse)

& it all comes back to me now
Yes I Am...
(Magic Like Crazy Horse)

And I cannot be killed in Battle
(the eagle flies with me)

(and I have touched your face
with hands of light
entered your spirit with a passion so bright
only the shadows of your past remain)

and it makes me dream
& makes me pray
(and fantasize)

makes me:

-write
-not write
-meditate (fixate, gyrate)

-insatiate
-create
-frustrate


-delay
-rush
-run
-evaporate
-consolidate
-coagulate

-crystalize
-deconstruct

(anticipate angels in my aura
& leave a wide open feild in my heart
growing with wild flowers

while the surrounding forest is ravaged)

My life has been a river
flowing towards the ocean
of us

Dear Angel...

(wherever your wings open is
what I know)
Wherever your heart flows is
how I fly
(whatever your dreams show is
what I will deliver to you)
Whenever your mind stops or starts
I stop & start also

When your arms reach for me I am
already there
(when your love flowers for me
I am all around you)

isn't it foolish
to imagine that I am not a wealthy man
(for I have:
looked into your eyes
touched the heaven of your skin
tasted the paradise of your kiss
melted into the bliss of your heart)

and that time where our two angels
slept in a dream
together
(we brought a little of heaven to this world)

angel of my love
my heart runs through your
fingers as so much sand
(then there is the image of light
that is really my heart
left shinning
and you hold it up so high)

Some light pours out of every
inch of you
makes me see halos all around you
(this light bursting out of you
makes my light burst out of me)

and it hurts when we try to mitigate the
river of starlight bursting into ourselves

you must become me my love
and I must become you

(this is our intention)

and she came to this world from the sun
(and there is nothing in this world fireproof
enough to stand between us)

Time is a trick
we play on ourselves

(& there is no such thing as poetry
only the ones who know this are alive)

I believe in the you
inside of me

(You are the light that
shines in me )

My Golden Love
(there is no separation for us)

Time will be kind to us
my true love

Never doubt
that from my deepest core
I am always with you

Making the best
of haunted lives
(afraid to break the picture window)

She writes poetry
& she makes poetry
& she is poetry
(every sound she sings, every
move she shines,
every space she opens)

everything
she tastes

My beloved angel
you will always be wrapped
in the wings of my ecstasy

It's nice how I won't get
even one penny for this poem

and the snow falls on this inverse poverty
and I am warm and I am empty
and I am filled with the light and dark of us
the serperation and the union

and the wrong and right and the
way the snow has covered our tracks
and the scent of whatever wild animal we
are

and the snowfalls
without you

filled with the illumination
of this emptiness

When will we stop the turning away
(we call it by many names;)
love
fear
kindness
uncertainty
security
duty

(excuses to hide for another lifetime)

,Should I suspect myself
of perhaps misunderstanding
the world

Or continue as if I knew my fate
reavealed to me 3 meters at a time

Until some shore is reached
where the Island fragance is so
intoxicating...

I'm not a
Killer
Teacher
Husband
Father
Buyer
Reaper
Seller
Banker
Lawyer
Doctor
Savior
Preacher
Boyfriend
Son
Servant
Leader
Follower
Keeper
Kneeler
Seeker
Friend
lover
Borrower
Stealer

(it's the fault of poems
this predicament)

They don't have jobs for dreamers
spiritual expanders
bleeding heart lovers
nighttime story whisperers

heavy espresso drinkers
(wanderers of asian mysticism
riders of ancient motorcycles
caretakers of rusted romantic machinery)

This place is like my death bed
pain burns like fever

(God always comes in fever
in pain)

(it takes an arrow to pierce the heart)
Flow of blood
flow of water
life force in action

It's not a cross it's a tree
Same tree the Buddha sat underneath

In the West we struggle
struggle agains the cross

In the East they simply sit down
under the tree
take some shade
take some rest

(take some rest my son
have some rest)

I have good days and bad days
days where I understand the glory and the light
and the beauty within

and days where I am bereft
almost like a dog who waits day
after day
by the graveside of his owner


As if he understands the concept of resurrection
and has the utmost confidence that the sole purpose of his
existence will stand up cheerfully one morning

DELICIOUS SYLLOGISM

My paradise lives inside of me.
She is my paradise.
She is alive inside of me.

Place inside
(of the zero point)
cosmic opening into the true
mother spirit

We have come to the threshold beloved
blending into one
before dissapearing
(only to return as
undefined
bliss)

Sitting here in between
the wars
(& there's nothing standin between me
and paradise)
save the lonely chasm of fear we must
cross

Old Dreams of Chopper Freedom
(running away again)
handgun from the war
saddlebags
(things that won't break)