predictions come true after all

heading back where you once were,

a genuine déjà vu

experiencing the now,

groovin to easy rumblings from this virgin red basement

 wondering exactly where that current begins

and given the duality of word consciousness

pulled back over the “rational”,

wondering if this dream will unfold in black or white 

this roll of the dice

yes, currents not only begin, Mr. Jones,

but sometime overflow or dry the hell up all the way to Gila Bend 

if they're that miserable, sir

see, you walked in here naked

and done so at the exact time

so you gotta fly with right wings

cause you’re at the mercy of their particular world,

without reason,

so long as there’s a flow to feel,

at least you’re not stagnating

so like me,

it is life that keeps me company,

amazed I can see this place opening up, 

amazed I am welcomed here 

as some familiar stranger

just passin through another snowy December afternoon

where citizens are comfortable with the seasons,

yet I too cannot find familiar faces

unless I peer inside this silence

hanging on to my idealism-

there is no time left bothering about 

thr left or right of politics 

Binghamton

5/17/73