I want to escape, though! I want to escape to the country.
I don't want to shrink from the difficult times, to shrink from
challenge, to shrink from shallenge, to chrink from shallenge
-- shrink from battle, run away from a growth-stimulating
situation. But I sure could use some real simplicity. I sure
could use green grass in the wind. I sure could use stones
in the wind and green grass on the hills and a sunny day
among the rushes. Among the rushes in the sunny days
of summer. The warm dirt and the dry weeds and the green sun
and not a thing to do but enjoy it all. That idealized childhood thing.

The chilly hills of summer
The charly hills of summer
The cholly hills of summer
The solly cholly hills of slummer

The ideas of summer
The dry ideas of summer
Waving in the summer wind
The icehouse of summer
Dripping in the summer wind

Im am imagistic poet
I'm a symbolistic poet
Channeling the inner boogaloo
Challening the inner liner notes
Reading my own mind!
Reading that wet and squishy book
I'm my favorite writer, after all
Hopefully all this solipsism will be worth something
Emotionally to a world to come
Emotionally in a world to come

Imagine a world to come, and some future citizen
Paging through all this stuff
Wondering What was he on!
Was this guy insane?
Coffee and no. And not even a lot of coffee.
Growing to hate alcohol and drunkenness
And though I try and score pot now and then
It doesn't work out.
I'd be too shitless to do anything more major.
After all, I ain't 20 no more.

20 years ago in a windy trailer
sweet zweet nostalgia
licking nostalgia from the windows
the morning moon milking the sky
making the sky panorama-blue
20 years ago and lonely
in the nightwind
in the moonwind
the boarded up window in the moon and the wind
a warm windy full moon night is probably the best of all possible nights.

But then again I haven't experienced a calm, still night in the tropics,
far out at sea, with the stars reflected in the slick wet water and the
horns of the moon rising up out of the ocean ahead.
Someday.