jack-open bus ride,
through mountain visionary snowy passes
we snake in then out grey cloud holes
feinting unsure arcane skies…
meaning:
there could be one onerous evacuation
with nothing left to declare
once this storm moves on.
it should not be surprising
these visions have been witnessed by many,
the jabber-cut of waitresses
grabbing at each other’s pointed heels,
tongues and fingers flicking,
beckoning to "come back visit us anytime",
redressing broken orders,
a coffee roasted
a 2-bit slice of blueberry pie…
easy over, why not?
so i try not being too dogmatic
lurking around these omlette basements
conveniently stashed beneath balloon drinking college towns,
where stovepipes make excuses for cancer coughing explosions,
till even frozen spit changes its ph factor.
i remember being shrewdly aware of my limitations,
asking those on the outside: “so, how does it feel?”
climbing taller pines to better grasp the up and down difference,
my closed expressions disguising these inside foregrounded walls
now are set aside for learning or the nature of games,
because most ideas already seem infected by arrogance
or whatever i’ll be want to admit.
but hey, where do our neighbors reside in this tenement?
who drives the school bus electric?
what more can be realized outside one’s grasp
to be analyzed
intellectually castrated
through step by step easy to follow directions?
are not most possibilities lurking right there
inside our own boundaries?
like playing piano “blind”,
stretching out
each run on every run
no matter where notes go
exposed and open-trailed, echoing?
the copper wire conductor for all this music energy
are the artistic voices surrounding.
so please share your water and stick
moist notes are heard everywhere,
don’t dam them up inside
fatigued cultural learning hospitals,
where instead of natural antibodies
patients are wiped out by misdiagnosed allopathic blackboard.
please tell me what’s ever been gleaned
from some abstract recondite blackboard diagram?
better to get stung by yellow-jackets.
sweat profusely until yesterday's dirty socks wash out.
clear rain is virgin snow no matter
even if it’s summer everywhere else.
then give me fewer prescribed laws,
scribbled on the run
or memorized over further excruciating centuries.
5/18/73