I was riding on my
Cushman box,
I was trying
to get up the hill,
I only had one gear
but still. . .
I’ve been climbing ever since,
grabbing for heights,
(ah, the stretching
feels good) been reaching;
I grab up every day,
just after dawn,
pull myself out, get it on!
find the pace, get some slide,
gotta get to the other side,
and once in a while, I sputter
out like that old motor scooter
and cruise to a stop, and await
some cosmic refueling

go placidly,
speak your truth,
avoid loud people,
enjoy your achievements,
exercise caution,
be yourself,
take kindly,
nurture strength,
be gentle,
be at peace.

We are tiptoeing
on the edge
of the precipice,
our senses tell us
to draw back,
but there is a
certain element
of mystery
and surprise;
can we trust
the people
we are with?
Anyone could just
reach out and
give a gentle shove.
Maybe we can fly.
We've never been here before,
we've never really tried.

when Stagger Lee
shot Billy
he had no idea,
he was just ******,
he could’a caught
the ride with Sadie,
headed west,
but no

I have unknown resources
that I have not used yet;
earlier in my life
I learned how to
overcome gravity and hover;
it serves me well in fleeing,
but I have not put it
to a positive usage:
just say the words,
"hey buddy, can you give me a lift?"

the things that we say
have no matter, they
come out like slobber
or slather, our pro-
pensity to comment
lacks moment and reason,
our ideas are defined
by the temps and the season,
follow me, brothers, to print,
take off your glasses and squint

in times when joy seems
furthest from your mind,
you guffaw the concept
and refuse to climb,
but your friends remind
you of us, all of us, you,
me, and our friends,
don't get left behind,
we're struggling upward
with no immediate goal,
we need you with us
and you are there