Monday, September 17, 2007


Kentucky Rain runs thru my mind. Elvis alone in my ear. I remind myself, prison. Yeah.
Turn Elvis up. Met an amazing craftsman today. Native. Diablo. Showed me some bead work. Just knocked me down. Solid solid guy. Floors me seeing such great art. But it does make sense. Got time. Got talent. Got the finished product. My point & will always be one of the points that composes a line, never back down. Never let them take “the you” away. Prison like any other trip defines. How you dance depends on you. How you walk. Stand.

No clouds. Cutting the field. Fresh cut grass. Colette. Picnic. Evan. Noah. Our walks within my nose. Within scents. One way ticket. Heaven. Fresh cut grass. Colette’s laugh. Dragging bags of groceries home and the whines . The why do we walk every where. Why no car. Fresh cut grass. Lethargy of love. Tuck you in. Within. With. & the deep breath in & mind blowing exhale. My present packs her luggage & a special overnight bag for our past. Inhale. Exhale. & we’re walking. Mt. Carroll. Waukegan. Milwaukee. Atlanta. Milwaukee. Walking. Two points compose a line. Four points a symphony. Five a mystery. Each additional. A gifted life. Inhale. Exhale. Fresh cut grass. Every exhale clicks a trigger. Every inhale signals warning. The green that grows. Allows our poetry. Our love. Our lives. Our dreams. Today. Tomorrow. Exhale.

I end this transmission with the last section of Paloma, a poem of love – survival-tomorrow & soon to be mystery discovered in September.

with this
my love
i fall
from name.
crocodile dung
will never stop
babies from being born.
scream of shadows
mayhem of the multitudes
this birth
a blessed one.
of rain.

Where do we go now? Where do we go?
Where do we go?

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