A.G.E's Joint

  Port bound Makes me restless The crazy ship of fools Calls me  Play with dolphins Brave the sharks Bury my grief in the sea

 They say there is safety in numbers Not anymore Crowds press in Gobbling air. Leaving me  Spellbound At the noise.

 In a line, I see her Kind of petite Seriously curvy Tex Avery dancer Or maybe Jessica Rabbit But shorter I'll play patty-cake And more Make it so.

  It's time. I must go. You can't hold me forever In the shelter of moss and twigs. A world awaits of shoals For my raft To succeed Or fail. 

  Check your oil, Mister? Is that one of those Mercury Convertibles? Oh, a 409? I bet kids these days never seen one. It looks like that left front's a little low. I'll get it. Yeah, all they want is look at a screen They don't even dance when the Opry's on. Makes me gladdder to up here in the hills. Don't even talk about Asheville or Charlotte Them's dens of iniquity. Anyways, you're ready to go. Be careful down there in the notch Not all the roads are back. 

  250 years of conflict Of victories And disappointments We sit and watch the parades go by. Ribs are on Potato salad at the ready With fireworks substituting  For the real war.

The shack was a weathered gray stack of sticks overlooking the wide tidal flat. A getaway from the real world. Jimmy and the kids fished the marshes during the day while she spent most of her time on the porch reading trashy novels and getting pleasantly buzzed. Like right now. The white Adirondacks contrasted with the dark green paint of the screened in porch. The box of wine on the table next to her. Outside, a shelf cloud storm had blown in, the wind tossing her still full curls.  Emmy came out to check out the weather, carrying her smoothie.  "Mom?"  "Yes, Sweetie." "You and Daddy have been together for a long time." Emily took a small pull and looked out at the approaching rain. "Were there any other boys besides him?" Kathy poured another glass of wine and was quiet for a moment. She'd never lied to her daughter, but this was a little personal.  "Not really. A couple tried back in high school. But they never got anywhere." ...

 Marco Polo Marco Polo Sun setting  On our prodigal summer Not long until Life won't let me Kick the can any longer. 

  Step right up, folks. It's the game where it's all made up and the points don't matter. Live improv from lower Manhattan. The scene is: You are on Jeopordy and your fellow contestants just came out of CBGB's. What would be your next line?  "Songs from the psych ward for $200, Ken." "The answer: 'We can't take her this week...' Yes, Jerry?" "What is Personality Crisis?" "Right. But you don't get money because it is imaginary Bitcoin." "Well, Darn."

  Very superstitious They tell you to forgo pleasure In this life For the Pie in the Sky Made of fluffy clouds In the next.

Bags are packed Almost No blood No alibi No wrong turns On long and winding roads With strange store clerks  And palm trees Two thousand miles from home. It won't be the long way home. 

Lucid dream Bouncing along the edges of my skull Overreaching conscience pulling on reins That doesn't exist Third level Ego, Id, Supra Sliding back and forth Between threat and joy. When the Amber Alert sounds Launching me to the next level Loving is so short So is living Forgetting is forever.

  It is a dream An artifice Created by computers To an unreal ideal A stone chapel In someone's mind Trying to achieve Innocence.

  The Stranger appears Dressed in red and black He beckons me toward him I know the purpose The edge of the abyss For everyone I back away It can't be my time Unless it is everyone's That final crash  Humanity is bent on

Web in the corner Small spider repairing  A tear where the storm cloud Blew in. She has no roots Just three small hooks Supporting her world.

 Ba ba here Ba ba there Ba ba everywhere Late December Back in 63 Screwtape caught me With a ewe And I'm allergic to wool.

  I don't like surprises Away with the April Fools' prank I'll sit on the bench And watch a pink peony break.

  Blooms are back Bluebirds have found the boxes Green dust coats my shoes Lungs tighten up under the onslaught Pink herebore makes it all worth it

  Green and gold banners Run along the rafters Round six tops await the guests The annual banquet  Parents telling the kids To make them proud And not be the Black Sheep Like the little brother, sitting within earshot A brief introduction The hat is passed Little slips of paper Telling who the Ayes have.

Sign on the road Estate sale, this way Items Merchandise Collected over a lifetime Here today, gone tomorrow They had great taste A watercolor of Coos Bay Next to a piece of driftwood They were One of my kind