long fingers crooked with the holding

of the words of dead men and motorcycle handles

called me brave instead of pretty

and my whole heart took

courage by the throat and kissed it madly.

.
                                L i k e
                         a Rolling Stone
                       SatisfactionWhat's
                        Going On R e s p
                         ect Good Vibra
                         tions Johnny B.
                         Goode    H   e  y
                         J u d e  S m e lls
                         Like Teen Spirit
                         My G eneration
                         A Change is G o
                         nna Come  Y e s
                         terday   Blow'n
                         in the Wind  Lo
                         ndon Calling   I
                         Want   to   Hold
                         Your     H a  n  d
                         Help! A Stairway
           to H e a v e  n      L ight My Fire
          Purple H  a  z e    H ound Dog L e t
            It Be  One No      Woman , No Cry
              B   o  r    n             t  o    R   u   n

Oh Lately,
I've been blatently.
Holding on quite patiently,
Waiting so complacently,
Sitting just adjacently,
Smiling back at you.

I can't figure out,
Just what to do.
Yeah,
I don't know how
I can to say to you,

That I wish for you,
To come my way,
And if you do,
I bet you'll stay,

Because you're a girl,
Who loves her play,
And that's my life,
Almost every day

An adventure is,
Just a word away,
I can show you how,
If you can say,

Yes,
Today.

Then together
we could forget about,
Yes
~terday.

Morrow of yes-terday.
I found myself in the Morrow of Yes-terday.
In the future of the past, it's foriegn to me cause it's never like what I had dreamt in the yesterday.
what are dreams anyway?
If not an extravagant conceit of some imagination, hallucinations, a facade..

some nights it was yes-
terday

others

I lose what tree
it was

in retrospect-
ive light
circles

Tipon & Maria

From porous debris, our house, rebuilding renais-

sance. Tiny streets, part wisdom, a long path, mar-

riage? Tipon & Maria, name, family, familiarity. Roasted

peanuts, to some. We need a small document, in time.

She knows, our work, labor of love. Poetry and poems,


under the tree, what was first and second. Thrid time too,

agreeing, too many times. Years, dissolving moments

of delay, to be or not reversed. Nay, Aye, indecisive, yes-

terday. We love the howling of the owl, renaissance or

nostalgia. From porous debris, home is best and kindest.

Happy
I wake up to a new day,
Rejoicing in a new way,
For gone the sorrows are of 'terday,

Happiness is all I want,
Joy is all I crave,
For without calls the grave,

In sorrow, ways to the grave paves,
Oooh dear, happiness we decry,