What would I really do
if it wasn't for you
five minutes of *******
a hundred forbidden cigarettes
a bowl or two
video games maybe
staring into space definitely
agitation
internal *******
a spinning world
lost in my self
that's what I would
be
But for you
My motivation
inspiration
loving hand on my shoulder
loving eyes which
sweep us outside
to long river walks
by the ocean
within the redwoods
open spaces
the possible
many joys
many blissful surrenders
blissful tomorrows.

What would I do without you?
Implode
Explode?
Without our life line
soul to soul
Who would I be
What would I do?

This bundle of fears
This tangle of tears
But for you so dear
I would be lost
in this four white walled room.

But for you I
start the fire
in our morning cold home
coffee fills the air
My feet on the ground
return to center
and am found.

This is now
what I do
because I have you...

The rooster does crow at the break of dawn
but five to seven a.m.
is the hours of the dog
"Time to wake up"
Cheerful beyond belief
face in mine
dripping licking tongue
tail wacking the dresser
in perfect time.
Hot breath
not yours not mine
but you know whose.
Through the fog of the mind
knowing it won't stop
until food is served.
I am never that cheerful at sunrise.

Seven to five
the birds and rats
are in their time.
Squirrels chipmunks
deer
everybody working their *** off to survive.
I gotta go to work
Calling in sick every day
But one foot in front of the other
And I am on my way.
The crows line up
on the garbage man's run
The ducks laugh at every move you make
but you take it in stride.

The cows lay down to
take a nap.
But not I.

At about five
The bear comes sauntering down the street
tossing garbage cans
this way and that.
The best part of work is the drive home.
Neighbors come out of their houses
to watch him.
Power and hunger
a dangerous combination
But in a rare moment of neighborly cheer
even a cocktail was had.
He was big he was strong
We gave him a wide berth
but owwed and awed him
along his way like watching fire works.

Five to eight
The hours of the skunk
and you get very cranky
through the PTSD
of a mean and angry father
and tires on the driveway.

As darkness totally sets in
the racoons come out
making mischief on the roof
batty as the bats that flee into my room.
Those racoons
the more you try to
chase them away
the more they come over
to see what your doing.

You look at me and wonder who I am
Sometimes you snuggle up
While the night birds sing.

Three to five
D.H. Lawrence
called the hours of the wolf
when madness and suicide
remorse and dread reign
Blood pressure
at its lowest
Heart rate at its slowest
Breath down
Body temperature as cold as the ground.
Remember to not
take very seriously
what ever you think
until with relief
the sun begins to rise
and doggy smooches
awaken your time. ..

It was a doggy opera
singing up and down
the street
on a hot summer
half cut moon lite night.
Crickets frogs
night blooming jasmine
perfumed memories
curtains flipping in the hot wind
suffocating sweating sultry
with the windows wide open
the neighbors bullshitting
My eyes stare across the room.
I've been alone but never like this before.

Over at the bar on Melrose
Jostled and jammed
a pivot point spun
waiting at the bar three deep
looking for eye contact
a friendly face
I've been alone but never like this before.

The family is all here
each and every one
Going through pictures
scrap books of the past-
realizing in the end
your memory is a picture
with someone
getting your name wrong.
I've been alone but never like this before.

I come back home to my doggy opera
you hugged me then
felt pretty good
until I realized you were thinking of him.

I've been alone but never like this before. ..

The three compassions
came to me
in a moment of silence
during a dream.
Not a daymare
Not a nightmare.
But in a moment of
rare and splendid peace.

It was laid out
for me
in a single distinct vision.

Compassion for self
Compassion for others
and the undefinable innocence of
all existence.

I tried so hard
to do so good
in everything
I said and did
but
faltering, fumbling,
obsessed, and human flawed.
I had much to learn
about
acceptance,
forgiveness
and the live and learn.

Perhaps this compassion
never comes
except in moments
of melancholy
on a foggy Christmas morning.

The fire needed tending
the warmth of the glow was fading.

I looked into her eyes
I looked into their eyes
and where I looked
I saw that with a look
I turned others
into
objects, chairs, tables, rocks.
I saw a different glow
the touch of that
innocent continuity
in all of us
fragile I'ness
suspended in a holistic whole
of
joy, suffering
peace and fear
connection and love
shining glowing
light of life
within the darkness
of the universe.

The third compassion
is rather odd
a mandala.
Extending out in concentric circles
encompassing the
fantastical, magical
workings of the universe
the vast expanse
of space and time.

And my momentarily
conscious knowledge
of my glowing light
and my place
in
now.

I saw the temporary tenderness
of all existence
my heart opened
the fire surged
on this foggy
humboldt
Christmas sunrise...

Where does
This parade
End?

In this sacred space
People share
Their secrets with me.
They come to me
With their fears
Their rare thoughts
Their pleas
Their past experience
They share their secrets
All untold.
The say the truth
Will set you free.

In their eyes I am not afraid
To look
While others recoil
I go forward.

I surf the crest of their emotions
When others walk away
I go deeper.

Their words whirl
All around me
And in this heat
And in this center
Of the cyclone
Within their madness
I find peace.

Holding the fragile
Emotions in my hands gently
Remaining awash
In compassion.
A moments breath
And waiting for
From the tangle
A bird to fly free.

From the tangle
A bird flew free
These words were a gift
Given by another to me.

When ******* in the tangles
Rooted into misery
Doubt and despair
Too many thorns pricking me
Little paper cuts
Adding up.

Walking wounded
With no dreams left
to offer hope so free
I come to you
With nothing else to lose
And offered up my madness
Fearful of what you might do.

You had a smile
Of serenity
And for that moment
Peace came over me.
We looked at each other
In a moment of compassion.

Time for that moment
Stopped
But of course it doesn't stay that way-
You walked your way
I walked mine.

Perhaps we will do
This another time.

It is 12 noon and I have swagger
Everywhere I look is my domain
I can pick and choose
I can create a scene
I can walk right in.
My universe, so they say,
is under my control.
People even know my name,
Love has come my way.
It's 12 noon and I have swagger that even I must refrain.

By 3 o'clock my life is slipping
The moon eclipses the sun
The sun eclipses the moon
I see the hints of darkness
that was not there at noon.
I reach the ledge and hang swinging,
my finger tips barely grip.
I am sweating but I am holding on.


By 6:00 o'clock
I am on the Bay Bridge,
traffic jammed in
My electrical system fails
and I know if I stop I'm doomed.
I watch the brake lights snaking towards me
No control now for me.
Inevitable as Monday morning
My car stops and I will probably die on this road.
The darkest hour surrounds me now.
My eyes are blind
My hands are numb
My lover has left me
and
I am wondering what I have become.

Sitting now in this empty space
all furniture moved out,
only this rocking chair remains,
Everything I have been has died
and now through finding this meaning
I sigh.
I surrender and all longing vanishes
I drift right back into this moment
and for a moment my heart sings.

At 9:00 o'clock I see a light
I see a path,
I start to move.
Once frozen now thawing
my heart resumes.
The clock clicks out my time
in digital sequence and rhymes
I even feel a dance begin.

I move towards 12:00 o'clock
but this wheel has rolled down the road
and even though back at noon
I start again
but in a different spot
and singing a different tune.
There is humility in my walk.
Down the road I see three oclock.