352/365

we are driving a few miles
out of our way to see the bridge
that was in natural born killers.
somewhere in new mexico
on the way to taos with laura
and her friends from mills
playing korn and discussing
second wave feminism while
i drink beers in the back,
blowing smoke out the window-
something takes a part of me
something lost and never seen-
on our way to a rainbow gathering.

her septum: pierced.
my hair: monthold bleach job.
hair on their legs and pits.
is that bobby mcgee on the radio?
you know feelin' good
was good enough for me.

we’ll spend
a few days
sharing a tent
in the foothills
holding hands in large circles,
campfires like ewok villages,
naked folk on horseback,
drums and guitars,
flowers and patchouli.  

can’t remember—
how
where
when
why
i was asked
to tag along,

laying there
under the stars
absolutely certain
that dropping my classes
at the college of marin
was the single best decision
of my life up to that point.

can't they chill
and let me be free?
freedom's just another word
for nothin' left to lose:

all songs blur into one
on a constant loop
echoing through time.

audible
even now.
in the quiet.