The air was clear
The clouds were high
Above the Santa Barbara
Mountains
The breeze was cool
My mind ran hot
Just like the old cars
With their radiators steaming
On the California mountain roads
Should I or should I not ?
What will he think
And should I care ?
Can I give up
Must I not
Which is
What
Where and
How
and why is it
Always all
My fault ?
I will not sit.
I will merely bow.
Myself and myself
Converse
But then
I get
Settled in
And ask for help
From above
As if by magic
I am transported to where
My mind can get
Some air . . .
The poor overworked thing
Allowed to rest
To expand into
Whence it came
The feeling of
Relief
To again visit this
Realm
The feeling of
Joy
Indescribable
I give thanks
I have found
This place
This place inside
Where I can go
To disappear. . .
