it is an honor
to love
and be loved
by you (only you)

i wanted a hippie van
and you wanted to make me happy
so you took off your Vans and grabbed a marker

we wrote "don't worry, be hippie" on the fabric until our fingers cramped

I thought I saw him,
Standing so elegant,
No single expressed whim,
His skin and body vents

Can't smell what he sees,
Only the breeze through the leaves,
A forest fire blazed,
But the tree always stayed

Yeah, I've felt the wind,
And I've heard the birds,
Through the flowers I grinned,
I tasted the words

every poem is still about you
every dream
every breath
my heart beats simply because
you’d like it to do so
and while you plant seeds in your dreads,
little did you know you also plant seeds
on my heart, and every
***** ruptures because
i nurtured those seeds with my love
and they grew into trees
and you keep inspiring all these symphonies
you’re beautiful but no one will ever
mean it like i do
like my art shows it
like this art is yours
you’ll live on forever in my poetry
and so will my love

*(r.e.)

Embody the world!
Dream into creation!
Your touch will comfort like carpeted grass.
Your voice like the wind and streams of peace.
Your breathe like lemon grass herb, warm and sweet.
Your mind like the mountains and clouds of the wanderer.

This man walks with poncho, satchel and cane.
He claims no wisdom and wars over no land.
He saddles the wind and chants to the Gods of ever-last.
Trailing only is a smokey film produced by his pipe of eternal life.

Modest is the heart of a good man;
Keen are the eyes and consciousness.
A natural fortitude are the roots of a clean soul;
Spread are the arms of success upon a mountain.
Survey the landscapes of history,
The beautiful transforming of this world,
Divine in its nature!

it became a perpetual motion
a dance
someone hands the card, another lights
the amount of aching discolored grazed fingers was immense
put your finger on the flint wheel
press it down

karen thought we should make a sign
the scrambles of bruised fingers for a piece of cardboard
my fingers throbbed as i scratched our message on the board
i kept the pink flower locked in the crease of my hand
and threw them in air
“draft card burning here”

it was 7 00 in the morning
october 21 1967
i was only 17
my brother jeffrey was flying a plane over dien bien phu
a friend richard was screaming in the trenches of xuan loc
a lover michael treading through a swamp in mui bai ****

i stepped up to The Police.
The. Men. In. Suits. Stared. At. Me
Blank. Faces. And. No. Expression.
I picked up my Pink Daisy, and brought it up to their bayonets
this is for Jeffrey, for Richard, and for Michael

the men in suits stared at me
in a world of chaos and confusion
all I heard was
Silence.

They talk and bend,
They draw and write,
Harder and faster,
With ever clean hands,
Which might sometimes stoop to dirt,
Only to be disinfected after,
They peer down the microscope,
And examine the cells,
Each year the pictures are better,
But their eyes are darker,
They work,
To add that extra diamond,
And slave,
To remove that spot of rust,
But all their work,
Is like adding more water,
To a swimming pool of iron,
And their houses increase in space,
And their wives are wrapped in lace,
And their lives go to waste,
As they increase the yield,
They decrease the life,
And all that grow are empty supermodels,
Row by row,
Strong back, strong head,
Sword against the bugs,
And man falls with them,
Forgetting he is made,
Like the bugs himself,
Work,
Not to make the fields full,
But the heart,
Then the rust won’t matter,
And if pictures of cells are hazy,
Your eyes will be clear to understand

ever since you sold your soul to the devil, you haven't been the same.
your lips keep telling me one thing,
but your eyes won't do the same.


i watched your innocence fade,
i saw you build your brigade,
so i couldn't move in.


i wasn't pushed,
i was shoved.


though we touched,
we never loved.


i didn't feel, i created illusions,
hoping that you could fulfill them.

ever wondered if dreams are reality.
and reality is a dream.
if we are living in someone else’s mind.
that we aren’t real.
that we are a product of someone’s imagination.
that you are nothing.
you are the invisible friend.