the day I had to decide on a BONE MARROW TRANSPLANT OR NOT, kevin D. blanch

I have some very hard choices to make today, my bone marrow is producing platelets but they are disappearing, stuck at 30 should by over 100 by now, the doctors want to chemo me one more time for the road, I don’t know? I had an angle visit me last night a fairy with her magic dust, she has seen many times before, as the scar across my face then the ribs sticking out,

as I lied in a pool of blood on the ancient lakes floor, 2005 and one year later 2006, for I was not born with these scars across my face, it took years of living in this violent place, as he said the young Marine, then the old wise bird named Dwayne, “ boy you are way to pretty to have an opinion”, I am 52 and not so pretty, opinion granted via the path of ambition and hard work slumbered by haters in new shinning cars and Styrofoam Houses;

I found the sandpiper right next to my house; then last night, that night the nameless girl on the bus came to me in my dreams for the first time since her death in 2008 33 years old; her own crazy WAKED out mother, she was with David the 6 ft. 4 African American athlete that still had the FRO never got rid of it, the most down to earth man I ever have known

we call free we call liberty we call land of the ignorant, she my fairy my angel sprinkled dust my close friend who was knifed to death at 54 years old; perfectly healthy, by an V.A. doctor, did not want to pay for is sacrifice any more no they, we, them they now me, said no more checks no more rent no more tears just your blood , my ex girl who died in 2008

David Lewis of San Jose California that David, who stood by me in my times of need who was knifed to death by a v.a. doctor, they got off the train with each other, standing on the dock our train depot here in Ogden the Junction city the golden spike city.

by a prescription pill driver which by the way is legal all over the fairy tale land while you are supposed to be alive here , here in the good old swing a dead man’s body as a flag, named Pat as he is murdered by a crystal light with a bush lite in his hand, SHE visited me last night for the first time since her death, she, he , they watch over me , my dead father murdered by a load of haters and so called Mormons Christians, he will answer the question, as for my doctor , and my grandfather are from the same town in Northern Denmark

is it time to go home, YES, YES, BUT IS HOME WHERE THE CLOCK LIVES OR THE BIRDS MATE, OR IS IT BACK TO DENMARK OR IS it in the next place, with they my loves my liberty’s my sole, she Adelia he Dwayne, her the nameless angel on the bus, him David. Let the angels answer for me they will answer the question, am I needed here on earth to FIGHT ON OR IS MY WORK DONE, I surly don’t know, for we are not wise men we are flawed thus we are PEOPLE humans STOP with the fake perfection start with the Imagination.

The same spot my great grandmothers eyes found my grandfathers in a truly love at first site stair, they lived right where I live, the blonde, haired blue eyed Scandinavian couple, with adopted the French name, BLANCH the French word for white, their real names Michelson Anderseen DANES;

Everett Ruess and I; as we walked the ancient lake floor as boys holding hands all the way they found his body last year, his mind has been searched for, over two Lands, and many keyboards;

but I KNOW WHERE HE LIVES , I have always know where he lives, right across the brown dry red field, up the canyon, and in the nest of the Sandpiper in my Yard.

THEY produced all those brilliant children, right here on this spot of real estate my spot our spot the sandpipers spot, dressed in vintage clothes she jumped up on me and wrapped her legs around me with that perfect body, those perfect legs, that perfect smile, it was still there, and she kissed me with true PASSION in her eyes, we walked just like that thru the depot he, her, we, then I was awake. May 10, 1869, 1858, 1960, 2000, 2005, 2008, 2012 2--- kevin d. blanch

THE Sandpiper told me Yesterday. SHE the bird that protects her nest as I follow her away from the nest as she tells the haters she is wounded and they believe and her babies live on in spite of Rachel’s KILLERS as they try to make a . Sequel out of a fairytale, a sequel out of me

Kevin d. blanch 5/11/12