We called it the summer of love
no drugs though
no ***
just love

and Oahu
and our kids
from New Jersey
and India and Egypt

arguments about pineapples
the chicken in the fire escape
ocean chemistry and don't let me fall
and that last dance when we were all crying

because
the magic
of childhood
had been recovered

If I were from Africa or Brazil
or one of those places,
where I slept on a mat in a little room,
America would be weird to me.
Because of like food commercials.
McDonald's.  Or Tempur Pedics!
Where it's all about comfort
and they're worried about the arc
in their bed, and I mean,
I'm sleeping on a mat.

I think about myself too much
and I don't think about other people
as much as I would want to.
I want to think about how others are feeling
when I talk to them, you know?
I've tried to drop all stereotypes
because really everyone
has an individual category.
And I think everyone has at least
a small amount of mercy.
Even if they don't show or choose it.

And I love Mom.  
So much

Why
do we call the blues
blue?  I'm playing on
your blues guitar,
wondering how you are.
Blues, blues.

My mind walks the streets
of saxaphone,
experience,
cigarette smoke--
like Radiohead says,
I don't care if it hurts,
I want a perfect soul.

Blues, blues.
The Yapese call blue
'ran mak'ef'
the water of the reef,
the blue within the blue,
beyond the blue--more blues

than these eyes have ever seen,
than this mind has ever known.
We only call the blues blue
because there is often something
so beautiful
in sadness.

all of us
want to think
'my place is best'

to have a place
that is yours
though, is enough

i can't believe
you thought i
wouldn't come back

Saint Jude says what's up
been in Boston all night
having coffee and tea, I bet
you're doing the same
in Tibet or wherever

They tried everything
on you: the secret arrests
burned Rumi books
poisoned coconut water
giraffes with broken faces

Loneliness is the door to the traps
but you know
who you are
I know too when I see you
on the coast

as still, as skinny as
one of my African statues
as lithe as a palm frond or a jellyfish
You were always going to get free
you were always going to get free

half of grace
is letting
your
self
accept it

Last night I ate broccoli and cheddar soup
from Panera
--in a breadbowl

which I gave to my mouse, Chai;
now I am at the typewriter,
we are listening to Ziggy.

And with Chai sitting inside of it
the breadbowl looks like
a little mud hut in Mali