Greet the open door

Photo by Dan Fraser

Greet the open door

that waits for you

listen to the lock click behind you

as you walk into the room

your name was given 

you’re expected

what will you do now

the next step is an act of courage

The history of where

Photo by Dan Fraser

I am not glued

to the history of where and how

or the when and who

I am drawn by the now of things

the slices and the breath of you

yet I do not claim to know

or understand

all that goes on around

or inside me

it’s the mystery of the eyes and ears

The ocean over my shoulder

Photo by Dan Fraser

The heater is seven hundred miles away

I can’t stop now because I know what I’m doing

when I’m finished the world will come to an end

everyone knows that

there can’t be an ending while the ocean is looking over my shoulder

I’m becoming hypersensitive

the fridge has driven me too far

the glass has been empty far too long

it’s mocking me I know it I can’t stand it

how can I sleep when it hasn’t rained yet

how can I turn out the light

when it stares at me like that

how can I quit before I’ve straightened out

the weird thoughts I was thinking

while Harlem awaits my answer

while the fat world sleeps

what kind of a poem would this be

if I didn’t include Jeff’s new kitten

which climbed up my arm and scratched my neck

in its search for affection

but wait I can hear the wind

beginning to howl outside above the crickets yes now I can sleep

the rain is here to take my place

Wrote this in 1970. Yeah, that’s right, 50 years ago. I was 21.