Passed this way a time or ten writing my way home.. seen haystacks.. folks coming back.. each has a front yard gnome.. into tract called ‘Prefab Mack’.. downtown there are shows.. which educate masturbating youngsters wearing clothes.. head East on road called 94 down Campo way.. old Yaqui Jim, if yet he lives, there still.. Jim would not stray.. says a lot when he speaks.. speaks as faithful pray.. fortune cookie.. betting bookie.. all in every way..
Once I asked, when younger where in this world he went.. had he ever married.. how his life was spent.. He looked.. smiled till sadness touched his eyes.. then a tear.. a moments fear.. all solid looks.. were wise.. his eyes betraying feeling every one shallow.. deep.. fading lies.. truth staying.. a vision stark.. set steep.. he said his wife though sick till dead he still could see and feel.. lovers have no barriers.. children know love heals..
Jim bent then picked a small flat stone.. threw it long.. when it was thrown.. in a crowd Jim is alone.. gave wisdom wiser than a clock.. he was keen as on a track.. expected or those coming back seems his dream and thought ship was docked.. ‘son each second beckons dreams.. some are true some what seems.. travel dream.. is what I see that glows.. walk a little.. fast or slow.. not past the rock you saw me throw.. travel comes to me in what I know’..
I looked at him standing there.. humorous.. stern.. long black hair saw the magic.. ice sickles that burned.. dreamed a dreamer artist how he begins to end.. each dream love.. each dream tragic.. live art to attend..my down to true classic blue.. ‘Rocky Hillside Friend’.
Thought for this day.. In a world of unnecessary hunger.. curable sickness.. extorted everything.. from water to diamonds.. in the sadness and futility born of poverty.. We need no war.. we need spend nothing on war.. we need say nothing save a fitting.. memorable eulogy.. we need do nothing but create a deep grave.. silent in an unknown void.. Peace Tony