Breathe nostalgic oxygen. Finally a
Thin mist, clothes no longer thick
& damp in a fog. Past fog of stolen roaches,
Past fog of album cover cotton printed,
Past fog of all rude, all what I thought
Was, is now, unnecessary necessities, flaunting
Every blunt now to dust in weed leaf ashtray,
Old obsolete poems, impossible to make out,
But they would of sounded beautifully
Spoken aloud with sitars. Past fog of ideals, my
Life based upon songs & tie-dye shorts,
Four sizes too big. Luckily, the fog was sucked
Up back to California, hope it doesn’t have a
Map & a plane ticket back. But the air
Came to me, for the first time. First time I saw the
Concrete stained with blood, first time I didn’t
Try to clean it with an unread poem, first time
I realized no peace sign could stop a bullet, a song
Will not fix a bridge, a concert will not stop a
War, that war ended seven years later. First time I
Saw the beauty around without thinking I needed
To see the beauty around, first time I saw the violence
& realized I couldn’t change a thing with dead
Poetry, powdered cough, hate peacefully. The
First time I was handed surgeon tools to dissect my
Past, all my organs play shitty music, cut the
Strings & stitch it back up. First time, first time
First time. First time I felt so vital yet so lost.

First time I was handed answers, lady fingers of
Mine, first time all the words became bullshit, or all
The words became beautiful, but mostly bullshit.
First time I found my own mind, nestled in
A tree, picked up it’s lightweight figure, to let it bathe in
The sun, first time we both felt the heat lift
Our hairs. Beginning to understand, comprehend, write
With purpose. I hold my pen, but it guides me nowhere.

I see the past & tell it to fuck off, I see the past
& look back & laugh, I see the past & shed a tear, I see
The past & my final statement is not here. The stupidity
Brought me here, mist chocked me for long,
Air cleansed my thought, The Old World intrudes creativity
With a poem with lost meaning, Old World glued
To teevee, Old World comes back in harsh comments,
Old friends, wanting to reminisce. New World is here, to strive
For perfection, here to smell the flowers & dogshit,
Here to create with purpose, here to live with meaning, here to leave
Me thinking about the Old World. Here to burn the Strawberry
Alarm Clock, burn glue snout, burn clear trachea &
Syrup heads, burn pink houses, burn deflated bike tires,
Burn personified phalluses, burn gothic face paint, burn colored
Fingernails, burn the follower. I sit in the ash of
Remembrance, to construct a new home, new den, remains
In a vase to toss in the stream, to sit her & ponder.
With thought yet without direction.