trouble pushed a curse off the edge of a busted lip. didn’t care. got home after lights out. escaped into comic books when bliss blew up again. was secretly oversensitive and cried himself to sleep. only little sister knew. courage was taking the brown glass, pushing skateboard through alleys to the vacant lot. smashing bottles on the old brick wall. broken feels so good. all was left of home. all the necessary rules lying there in liquid and why not? culture never did nothing. some day with little sister’s help he would write a letter. hitchhike outta here. find a paper route and a giant wave to surf. santa cruz will do.
no matter what kinda life i might have, no matter what hopes or dreams, i find reassurance on a sunday, now and here, laid out on the couch looking up, the stillness and quiet coming over me slowly with the rushing of air
and i realize, in the atmospheric space left by the panic and fear, forty years into what a madness as is, i may never be more blessed than here, than now, for this moment finds true peace in my heart