Sunday, October 7, 2007

After the Walkabout

A pleasant walk to Faustos for supplies,
cigarettes for the week, a pack of Buglers,
meat for the tomato sauce with liguini,
four pints for the typist.

Sunday afternoon with the opera,
the Red Sox and Angels scoreless and
what about those Rockies,
a real estate boom in Denver.

The Yankees collapsing again
to a bankrupt city.

What does all this mean.....

1600 Blue skies and breezy.

"Okay, this is it, last friday morning in bed,
genuflections and ruminations during
Camelot in San Francisco, nothing specific".

A destination point..a point of view, a view
from the hill..the hill above the surge,
that surge that flows from within to within
and passes into another drain and out to sea
into a greater flow and current.

"Might as well wack off in the waves..."
perhaps it was time for messages again,
the machine would open the eyes
to catoragize and analyse.

Posters, the San Francisco age, psycedelic
dayglo drug outrageous fuck zodiac designs,
East Totem West and Funky Sam,
Celestial Arts and Bill Bates.
Romantic, be nice, still alone, a sticker
on the fridge, flower power....
burn down the guettos and jail free speech.

End the war, bring home the boys
and put real stoners on the streets.

"And that was it, head shops became boutiques,
then into department stores.....
big companies and brand names....
Duhhh, what next."

"You make it sound so simple, a sign on the door,
a colorful logo, the image, an International
Billboard, brand labeling on the ass
of your pants, the neck of your shirt,
the grill of your car, steers to the cash register",
snorts the oldman, eyes heavy, ears ringing,
yearning for something unknown,
a proccupation with finality, but far from ready
to leave..not this house, not this life, always
an optimist believing in the sunny day.

In a vicarious world of entertainment that offers
duplicate hats and sweaters and the chance
to look like an asshole on television,
only fools would spectate.

Identity becomes a color change, a slimmer body,
enhanced options, change the bed and keep
the partner, sell the house and leave
the partner.

"Your'e missing the point asshole,
it is all about change...
but not the evolving comprehensive kind,
the tools and toys, baubles bangles and clothes,
better housekeeping...
trade in and turnover, an address changes
every two years, hardly time to grow a garden,"
snorts the madone unamused with the gypsy way
that started when the Dodgers moved to L.A.

Then goalies wore masks,
the snakes climbed up ladders
from thier law offices into elevators
and agency floors, lobbiest for stars,
dealmakers for the percentage, an allegiance
to the highest price.

The team number became the dollar number
and the frachise is Bushleague.

Always end with a joke.

Blue skies and beautiful,
a good breeze in the Keys.

Ready for the cold pint.

1730 time to cook dinner.

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