Those backyard
days when we
lived in the
moment.
The home made
announcements done
in the violent
art of our time.
Always promising
kegged
beer and music.


We piled into
cars loaned
by parents.
Walked drunk
and as one
along the city
blocks of our
town.
All of us
flocking to
hear the voices
of our friends.

We drank hard
like young ones
should.
Smoked what was
available
and expanded our
minds with
sour caps
and toxic cartoon
printed paper tabs.

Contemplated how
things could have been
if we would
have had
D.Boon for just
a little while
longer.

Those Days
for me are
over now,
time
has held true
to its promise.

Some of the
music is still
available
,the art.

Though generations have
passed the time
still shines in
memory.

Some still
think about those
days while
paying only some
of the bills.

Drinking at home.

Doing time in prison.

Burying a friend.

Seeing Watt on his
bike along Pacific Avenue.

Reading Bukowski.

Cruising on Paseo.

Getting high alone.

This life
it ain't no picnic,
it's a history
lesson.
It's the politics
of time.