Now there is a pink and white striped dress shirt strewn across the floor
with a black tie,
instrumental jazz music riding the air waves (John Coltrane?),
a copy of one of Kant's Critiques sitting on a table.
Max's apartment is a rare sanctuary
where we can be 'night people,'
still up at 5 a.m.,
And the world outside becomes a curious novelty.

     I had to leave behind Vermont, and the woods, and Crispin and the heart circles around the fire. The propped up tarp was dismantled, the Indian tapestries were taken down, Swami's disciple went to talk about the Universe's essential oneness some place else.
     It was like coming down from an intense trip, one you wished would never end. At ( Read more... )

     It was a disciple of Swami Satchidananda who led a talk on the Universe and its essential oneness. In a grassy meadow surrounded by woods, we sat barefoot on multicolored tapestries. About ten of us were collected together, beneath a tarp which was haphazardly propped up with branches.
     He led us through a meditation, "Close your eyes now, ( Read more... )

I'm drinking Kombucha with Vinny,
We're talking about Marx and about veganism.
I like this sylvan lifestyle,
This escape from a corporate-churned, pop culture.
And hey, last night I fell in love with Crisp,
With hope renewed as he breaks the mold: this man with the beer gut and receding hairline who I find to be so handsome and charming.

Last ( Read more... )

Fool

All of it accompanied by a liberal-minded, youthful attitude of: well, doesn't anything go? Pop yer pill, having yer feelings, speak yer mind, war is bad, life is good, have a drink of alcohol and skip around the sidewalk.
I don't have to beat myself up for beating myself up.
Feet of clay: apparently strong in substance but weak in foundation,
( Read more... )

Poetry is a new form of expression for me, but one that I recently find to be just as gratifying as the prose form. All poems in here are written by me, unless otherwise indicated.

drop out.

Degumbia with the messy faux-hawk haircut,
Like a mohawk native American,
fresh air, canoe rides on the beaver pond,
sitting in the grass outside of the mud ( Read more... )