Fraudulently carrying books, not read
Smoking endless cigarettes and drinking coffees
in the student union at Reed
in Eugene, in Portland in the south end park blocks
let’s all drink espresso
to express our individualism
let’s go to the Café Espresso
Obscurity and ambiguity
the chosen raiments of the faux intelligentsia,
lets be incomprehensible, but say inscrutable
lets read Alan Watts,
lets backpack in the north cascades, lets be Kerouac, Ginsburg, Snyder, Burroughs
lets be vital, lets drink Cribari Brothers Hearty Burgundy or Sweet Sauterne with Kool Aid,
heralding the arrival of Boone’s Farm Apples
folk songs, folk singers
fiddle sticks, dulcimers, jug band music, blue grass music
Mimi Baez’ husband’s book
before he died on a motorcycle, with his cat
in New York, …its been so long,
….since Dylan preformed
at the Gas Light,      in the village
the in-between-ers were stuck
with the beats pulling them back to the 40’s-50’s
10-20 years gone in the past
and being pushed forward, into the soon to be drug culture
of the hippies, who were coming real soon
with the trappings of a full grown culture
The times are changing …quickly; Janice is coming, and Jimmy, and a magic carpet
back then it was hard to be 16
tugged and pulled, and pushed and pulled back,
with tension building churning
the guts of iconoclastic Kerouacians
churned with resentment at the hedonists
great literature 
reduced to watermelon sugar and fishing
unwashed and barefoot contaminating
the steps and floors at city lights
barely able to read but standing where giants stood
their vicarious intelligence to comfort them
on their way to the Haight
stopping at Mike’s place
to watch the pinball addicts before heading east
but the cold hard truth about 16 year old boys
was girls,  and whatever it took to try and have sex
Siddhartha was a lure to attract the braless
and Kant’s Reasonable critique only good when applied to the sun shining,
through a thin cotton dress, blowing in a summers breeze, bronzed slim legs another lure
as the beginning of dialogue about intimacy
one dialogist trying to convince the other about the spiritually-earthy requirement for sex
the 16s became 18s
and the calendar moved through this idyll time
until it was 1964 and the adults went to war
in some off the edge of the  world place
and the some of the 18s went to war, and some went to school,
because 
Beaver’s dad stopped telling us what to do

we abdicated learning  and memory
by walking through the  computer doorway, the window
through the gameboy, iphone, ipad, the desktop , the notebook,
notepad, xbox, smart televisions, why chromosomes
to the internet, the cloud, the cyber universe,
to the other side
donec dementia
“I don’t fucking know,
Just google it.”
Don’t bother me the television is telling me about the world
About life, About death, about taxes, better sex, drugs I need
Drugs I don’t—I don’t have to know anything
I no longer question what is in front of me
I have accepted the piano choosing its own tune
when we abdicated learning and forgot memory
We stopped talking to each other
There was, after all,     no reason
mortuus est, non puto

“ I’m going to start 
thinking about mindfulness,
being mindful,minding mindfulness….” 
she said
Language is the bane of mind full ness
an unnecessary encumbrance,
taking time produce thus leaving
this moment, this now, right now
By defining, designating
And talking, about this NOW
we fail to see it leave,
by the back door
I think about my cat
Hungry or not, Comfortable or not
Living unencumbered

In its moment…..