I undertook it well after my miraculous Thailand debacle,
antecedent to an ill and scholarly time
in which I danced with a thousand ideas
from MLK to the primally fierce river dolphins of South America,
and thus it came about
that immediately following a crimminal/mental breakdown,
I was picked up by my Steady Pa
and taking "Dead Indian Highway"
(breaking periodically to avoid road-crossing deer,)
we made our away across Oregon mountains
to my home county, Klamath Falls;
I,
a tiny, ailing modern Rosseau,
was delighted to see wild-flowers growing in green pastures.
Once here, or there, (depending upon imponderables,)
I rambled about the fast livening downtown
and stopped at my powerspot library
to type up a little poetry
(for unprofitable and thus "insane" motives.)
I risked my life a few times
and staggered deeper into Dysmality.
The weekend (a victory of now unfashionable labor unions,)
came about and so I found myself half-fainting,
walking through a luxurious 1st world department store,
got "home,"
drank an ale,
and then left to pitch about the dangerous baseball
with a tiny modern Judas
who left me stumbling,
stumbling home in the fearsome pitch night
(with my Achillean eyes)
and headlights came warring by
and the tiny apocalypse being over,
I saw a common, pre-modern sight:
some billions burning balls of cosmic flung light.
and thus, before birth having left,
I at a savvy point arrive:
if you in me see a chip off the block, beware lest you think the heavens tick-tock.
to live by the sword by the sword is to die by the sword, to live by the dove is to fly on above.
Think me no polite friend for I am more than passing bitter at my poverty...
but to leave this message, the unknown has left me alive:
as sure as deer will eat roses,
and time expose and obscure another Moses,
as sure as dragons and missiles shall fly,
utopian peace and love shall arrive.
