Another cup, another smoke
I contemplate the rights of man
how we move on
how we choose each second
in this wide world
great world
beautiful world
with its trees towering and its rock supporting
all over

May new days be upon all of you
May this be your moment for the New

And how all those rooms of yesterday make up this room of today
same furniture
same wall art
on different walls
in different spaces
making this room again
all mine
making this life I live
again all mine

How thoughts go of tomorrow
bouncing off these walls and hitting me back
do I do them
do I let them live
do I let them have space inside my head

And how all these clothes I wore yesterday make up my person today
though it’s a different time
it’s a different time
and do I encounter it all today as I did yesterday
or do I laugh differently
and love differently
and listen more intently
or just shun it all and return to yesterday––

the day with less regret
the day I was not changed

I make this choice over and over again.


San Francisco

I light a cigarette
and let the torch breathe in
so slowly it goes down the cylinder like a recurring trolley
up its way to the Golden Gate Bridge

San Francisco has always called to me
I want to walk through Haight-Ashbury
at least once
and be among my people who are not my people
who are my people
but in a different time
I would have experienced what they experienced
I would have taken LSD at a Jimi Hendrix show
and I would have, jawdropped, seen him play with his teeth
fingers flitting up the fretboard
with the Hippies and their swaying
their headbands and peacesign bracelets
and I would have been one of them
I would have
San Francisco houses them
so I’m told

I want to try my manual car up those sectioned hills
that seem from T.V. shows to be everywhere
I want San Francisco and the Golden Gate and Alcatraz being in my 
     line of sight

and my cigarette is halfway to its end
and I am halfway to my first shower in a week
it’s been a dirty week
hands and everything
and I do not feel home in the South
where there are Christians and methheads everywhere
and crack cocaine is something only found in Atlanta

I want to be near the people who suffer in cold or
who never suffer in cold
out West
with the deserts and cacti and sagebrush
where there are coyotes and Black Widows and scorpions
and my neighbor has ferrets that stink up his house
and I sit on the A/C drawing cigarettes after the weed’s cashed out.


Day In, Day Out

I'd like to see my lungs
After it's all said and done
My liver too
How yellow and green it seems

At times I cough up things from the deep
At times I throw up
Yet I still ask:
Circling throughout my body
Every goddam day
I need them now
I can't live without

I love
What they do
Day in,
Day out


our black void

our black void
wishes to be filled
to feel white
to be something
but it never can
for it stretches,
constantly stretches,
and we need it
the white needs it.


Hospital III

this room is so familiar
I feel it as its vagueness dries air circulating constantly
the dry air entering
this dry air exiting these lonely lungs
I need a real cigarette, I say to myself, then it will be O.K.
to be in bed all day,
to be in static wheelchairs in a constant state of discomfort.

I think it’s time for my next dose:
one more hour
just one more
until six more becomes my reality
I need it now
I need to escape these walls
just mentally
just through the now hazy window of my mind and the window––
always telling of a world still circulating its bowels out there
where there is sunlight and dying trees
where there are bodies busily bustling through crowded streets and
      dimlylit walkways
leading to the next––
the constant next––
always on the horizon, while my mind is concerned with only but two
to dream or wake.

this waking dream, nightmare, of knowing more is out there that I do
      not want,
but do I want this? the solitude? the nights amid so many pillows? the
      nurses checking in? the friends too bored to leave? and me in
      between casts unable to do much but breathe?

I believe in reality, out there, somewhere, maybe over the rainbow,
but not in here
surely, there is more to the world than the constant, vapor cigarette
      and endless Cokes!
surely, out there, is a solid grip
a fundamental foundation,
a stolid rock, unwavering,
where all the people must end up,
though sometimes they fall so far back
into their white, hospital beds.


Hospital II

I hear lifeflights over nurse calls outside my window,
my lightbearing window,
where the light rises and falls each day as if by habit
as if it’s been doing so for thousands of aeons
I watch it again and again
as shoes pitterpatter past my closed door
I do not wish to see them in their stretchers, oxygen tubes, casts,
always looking in to see me covered in books and T.V. and comfort
my casts not allowing me to move
my injuries so deep it will take time,
much more time,
I do not wish it to hurry
I do not wish to leave,
to be back on the walking streets with those gazing animals always
      wanting more from me,
for in here I can sleep
I can close my eyes and just feel the earth spin so calmly up here
      in this hospital bedroom
while out there I know it spins so violently
out there where every step matters and every hand position is
      telling of some inner thought
while in here I can lie on my back
and smoke vapor and dream