5001. OFF AND RUNNING

OFF AND RUNNING

Off and running on  -  what sort of distinction is that?

Are you off or are you on? I want to walk the Walking

Purchase, from right where it started by the Delaware.

All those lying, blasted sons of William Penn, how brazenly

they cheated what they played. I hate the likes of all that.

No wonder Dad went home in anger to England once more.

-

Somewhere along the way west, I passed a huge boulder

the other side of Quakertown or Bethlehem or somewhere.

It was huge, with a crazy plaque denoting some woodsy

lunch that was held there in a grove in some 1750 backwater

time  -  a break in the work for a treaty and discussion. That

was long before the knives came out. And then I got to

Conestoga. The river and the town. All those wagons, once

made there, and all that westward trek. The Mack Truck

overland haulers of their day. It stuck. I love that stuff.

-

Now I fly paper airplanes from the crazy-house woods.

I lean against the scabbard of another man from Hell.

When they call I answer, I eat when the ring the bell.

Such Pavlovian intentions do me well. I am living still.

-

Now I cradle your head in my arms. I was reading today,

in a library stall filled with aching and blood, how to kiss

for comfort and love. Kiss gently, upon anyone, at the

site of the third-eye, between the eyes and up 

some high. It brings peace and bliss and aura. 

It brings Love and a golden glow.

-

(I can hear it now : 'you're gonna' kiss me where?').