I'm at the end of life here
On the end of the train
California is truely
A flower in the fog.
Stop your sorry branching
You silly cloud
Stop all that smilin;
There's a certain smell to aging
The sea breeze

In the gray fog I wake
Beneath the green pines
Out along the penisula
High above the sea wave
With an empty feeling
A heavy hollow pull.

Through the windows
Of the mind memories
Come and go like
Deer in the tall ferns
Moss on the old stones
Transparent and cold.

Soon it will be time to go
Down along the new coast
Out past the gray pines
To watch the sun set
Hear the waves crash
The deep earth moan.

If you could squeeze
A poem
Out of me it would be like
A cloud against a great mountain
A trembling of flowers. I know
The mesa sunset. The balancing of
Moon and spirit.

And then the synthesizer made a come back
And then a supernova. And then anxiety.
Cam over.
I’m out in the desert, studying the meaning
Of rain in the human brain. I’m learning
More about myself that is. How the blood
Talks. How the shade relieves itself.
I’m offering you sunsets. Roots set.
The lonely land and sky

Out in the desert there is silence --
The mountains blinding ambivalence  
As white as the bones within.  
Slipping out the rocks, more rocks
Come the unbending tongues of time, satisfying
The antemortem joy once again.
The sun holds the sky, the whitest wing
The earth holds the rest, all of your thoughts
And the rain.

This land is bent
As yucca lingers *****;
Firm beetles push into soft
Sand, where soiled climates
Wet.

The arroyo is bloodshot and
Drunk, ******* rocks
Lay naked in sweat beneath
A colorful horizon of a smoked
Cigarette.

The moon, lubed, rises yellow
Bliss over ******* of
Red mountains embraced in
Night’s hard pressed
Kiss.

The stars are asleep and
Yet they keep a memory of
Love between juniper sheets;
Where you and I, and I
Weep.

The ****** sun is
Thrusting high, the day is
Climaxed in birdsong cry, without
Ever having to grasp (alas)
Goodbye.

I tend to stay as silent as possible when two minds interact
It is my camouflage
And the woven fragment of argument
Of ecology and war and more
Is overwhelming when the moon is so full
And the killdeers know not if it is a grey morning
Or midnight
But I am the last one left
Alone by the fire waning
While the embers orange dim off
And the cold creeps in from the swamp
And my thoughts begin to ignite
On the horizon of perpetual sleep

(But it is I who walk the gravel road in shadows
So deep into the forgotten night, into the illuminated swamp
Making sure the flames will not uproot again).