34. from last summer

It seems like silly irony to name such a place Fiesta Gardens; the low

replicated houses all leaning towards a shade of grey, any gardensparse

and isolated by rectangular slabs of smooth. What is smooth about a garden

except for the momentary petals, leaves, every shape other than rectangle?

And there were no fiestas. The strip mall empty, the park obsolete as children

danced and splashed in their chlorine bath, and I am not interested, too

overwhelmed by the layered cake of stress and need and boredom in which my

family now resides. Max said our furniture looks stupid in the new house: our

armchairs so once-comfortable in our high-ceilinged living room now sweat side-

by-side-by-side in between the laZboy and grand piano. As for me, I sit and

wonder what slow tragedies and great happiness the grey walls are trying to

undo. And why are we trying to unhear each other, I blunder, as the neighbor

says "Sure is quiet at night." The world sure seems far away from Fiesta

Gardens, except for the sky, where the beauty sinks in. For when you have

such a flat land, the power you surrender is vertical, The washes of blues

and pinks and hard stars set up their thrones, and while my father might

worship the artichoke sculpture, my sanctuary is the front step, facing

upwards, not so away as around.



But as usual it is a good morning in Berkeley where everyone speaks the

same language and means different things -- clapping by falling

backwards, passing out in a salvia daze buried crevice betweem

tree branches, we sleep and dream occupy fuck the Beatles, that all

I utmost want is to be holding your hand I want, man and girl and

baby Sam. It's when I know for sure I'm o walking evening Oakland,

numbered signs like a yellow brick (violators be sighted and) toad.

And don't pull out your gun, you don't need it, let's melt it down

into silver balls we hang from trees with brown thread count the soldiers dead,

to afford college. To afford a wallet, a system we've fallen into again,

trading life for a say, when hey, what we say is in our minds.

you run. he walks and i watch

Max and Rory are at the Berkeley house, enjoying the hospitality that is

so uncommon around Burlige.



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like i h ave something to say