Guacamole

It's all going to 

Come back 

To bite you on the A**

Everything you write 

Everything you say -

So why 

I ask -

do we even talk 

At all 

Why don't we have the sense 

To see this coming -

And shut up 

But what fun 

Would that be ?

As a child 

With no one to talk to 

A blank piece of paper 

Was a friend -

Someone who 

Would listen to 

All my moanings 

And groanings 

Now, I have no excuse 

Other than 

Pure cussedness -

I have learned to read, 

To write 

And to think 

And someone 

( maybe Al) 

Invented the 

Internet . . .

So now we write 

For a cloud of nebulousness 

Who is it 

That's out there?

That's the interesting bit 

I have no idea 

Who's listening 

Who's reading 

 But still, 

Like eating chips,

I dip 

Into the 

Guacamole . . .

Gently Rocking Train

Just nothin' like a 

Glass of wine on a 

Gently rocking 

Train

Pacific surf liner -

In the dark 

And you by my side -

Muted conversation

Shuffling cards -

Solitaire 

- on the phone -

-Can't see the scary tunnel 

When it's dark outside -

Will probably hear it 

And wish 

For another glass -

Of wine 

But must maintain 

In public -

Can't be too comfortable 

Just -

On the edge of relaxing -

Thanking all the gods ---

We are not 

Driving !!!

Train and Subway to LA

Train and subway to la. 

To see a play. 

There's a time for everything

I always swore I would never go 

Beneath the streets to ride 

In the dark 

In earthquake country 

I kept my eyes closed 

Almost 

The whole way. 

Relieved there was no 

8.0

On the Richter scale . . .

A Play about Mormons

In darkest Africa 

They come through my neighborhood-

Sometimes 

But what about women ?

What about divine mother 

Don't they know her 

In her brilliant light 

What of their hearts 

And their bliss 

And the joy 

     Of the Holy Spirit 

What has that to do 

With golden plates? 

The gold would be the color 

Of the chakra that opens 

And showers us with

Droplets of 

Golden 

Shimmering 

Joy

Siri

Speaking to Siri 

Letting her right

SHe doesn't know right from right

Write

I could say, letting her type

But then how would the creative process

Be affected by machine

Blood From A Turnip

How to get more blood 

Out of this turnip?

Only so much income 

Inflation . . . Inflating 

I'm old enough to remember 

25 cents a gallon 

Gasoline!!

Difference was 

That quarter was made 

Of silver . . .

Scarey when you think 

     About it 

Now it's all bits 

     And bites

In an electronic 

     Brain somewhere 

Science fiction---

     Back when I 

Was reading 

     Science fiction -

And what happens when 

The sun spot comes 

And wipes away all

Traces of numbers from 

The giant inter-web-net

     Brain ?

What if it gets

     A headache ? 

Is there an excedrin 

     Large enough 

An asprin for that ? 

"Take two 

And call me in the 

Morning"

Doctors used to say 

It's inevitable that someday

Something will disrupt 

It's concentration 

Computers. . .

I don't really trust such 

Complicated things 

And what about when 

They begin

To talk to 

Each other 

Where will we be 

Then? 

If only I could add 

A few more zeros 

To the account

Zeros being worth nothing 

But turning 1000

Into 10000

Into 100,000

One could dream of 

Having a checking account 

Like that. 

Disappearing Act

Today at the temple 

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. . .

Do we have a choice?

What's it doing raining here?

- in the middle of a drought year -

They build and build

Another five hundred

Unit building 

More condos in the river bed

And then they cry and complain

Where will the water come from 

For these units

-As the rain water rushes to the 

Sea-

Who are they?

Do they invest

From someplace 

Else?

My great grandfather 

Farmed oranges in 

Orange County 

Now oranges come from

Elsewhere 

Shipped to the millions of people

Who live

There 

Now

What do we do 

With the land 

With the place 

Where we live 

Do we turn it into asphalt 

And concrete?

Do we grow nutritious food 

Nearby 

And stroll in 

Gardens and 

In forests 

I suppose we 

Have a choice