had it run just straight
with no turn on either side
we all would surely fret
life is such a boring ride

life is so dully made
that's all we would say
the road is clearly laid
same looks every day

no bumps and no holes
sharp bends of surprise
the way blandly rolls
we don't fall and rise

thank god ain't so made
life has twist and turn
in search of what's ahead
we persist with the run.

There's a reason
dear reader
that the Vikings
set out to sea.

Viking women.

Tall.
Beautiful and fierce.

They craved the treasures
of Ireland
and the fabrics of the
northern coast.

Sent their men out
in open boats to find it
and bring it surely home.

Gave them a sprig
of chamomile
a taste of watercress
and urged them to sharpen swords.

This was not the story of
Lysistrata.
Not at all.

Yet I know this story well
living with a Viking woman
as I do.

She hounds me
nips at my heels
keeps me on the straight
and narrow.
And at the dawn of the day
drives me out upon the
steel grey sea.

So bid me adieu,
you who listen
there is fury at my back
and the open ocean ahead.

Dropping it for the first time
lysergic acid diethylamide
there on
Pescadero's beach
with night hunkered down
in the dunes

We howled at the waves
of the wild Pacific
stamped our feet
on the dense moist sand
and miracles radiated outward
from each footfall

uncounted stars
galaxies somewhere deep
in that gritty sky
the sand alive
with phosphorescent life

Oh and we laughed
swore oaths to each other
spied the turbid moon
as if for
the first time
her hair in a mess
of wind-torn cloud

It was perfection by the sea
until
some wise old hippies
alerted us to our danger:
"The heat's in the parking lot, man."

Panic.
Crawling like drug-addled moon dogs
on our bellies
through the dunes
to find a near-empty
parking lot.
No heat.
No hippies.
Only the wan moonlight
vacant pavement.

And so in our glorious excess
to a sandstone cave
where a box of whispers
was found
and poetry invented.

on the verge of wilderness
imminent silence*

welcome
the sun stroking
peaks aglow
the thundering falls
mist-kissed rain
the solitude
so rarely reached
too often breached

stillness loosen
untamed words
in the native tongue
before thoughts
unspoken
became yours
mine
ours

to the wild
bear these
cryptic symbols
scrawled on
my halved heart
tokens of longing
succor
for the lost