...Oh I Oh...

a painted response to Banks of the Ohio murder ballad:

Darling say that you'll be mine
In our home we'll happy be
Down beside where the waters flow
On the banks of the Ohio

I took her by her pretty white hand
I led her down that bank of sand
I pushed her in where she would drown
Lord, I saw her as she floated down

Down in Ojai

Oh down in the valley
the valley so wide
spreading its hilly legs
Orchards bloom between.
we rest on its tummy,
Meditation Mount
three girls laughing
legs dancing, in place,
a boy with a problem
a grimace
oh the expert of head
hanging banging on
typewriter, worried
hurt, the fruit
between each our legs
ain't for him,
hear the wind blow.

35.

The August sun set heavy, slow steady, as I
braced my basket's bounty with an arm
while carefully climbing the
sidewalk cracks on my way
downhill home. Oh the triumph
walk of a day spent basking in
sunlight, sewing, and trusting
eyes. Sold one notebook-gave
one away-made another notebook
and finished a pencil pouch. The trees
anchored us soil-deep beneath the concrete,
while the other trees burned slowly, entangling
our minds in our hands, our energies
spreading, mixing, wrapping to hold one another.
Amber, Mountain, Talos, Alex, Josh, Hannah White,
these are arounding manifestations of me-we feel
this love in tiredsorefrustrated bodies. The love
holds more than the sidewalks, you know. We could
orbit endlessly.

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.



yo, i like the feelimg ot typing om,,,my bad, on this, makes me feel l

like i h ave something to say

33.

Dear Sugary Figure, making my
eyes smile with the
sweetness of your stance, your
face arrangement, your tighty
whiteys, your karate bow
making my skin melt like
butter, simmering cream
baby, is me pouring into
your mouth - my hip is a
straw drink me, my hands
are spoons digging in, my
vagina is an oven,
let us
bake there

32.

I try to lick myself invisible
in the creek cavern on campus
naked blue statue, pass through
hanging leaves
slip down mud hill
by the water I
breathe fire
hot
dizzy spinny beauty
turny blurry water movement
I dip my toes in
an old man white beard nearby
still, not visible to any authority
creek comrades
not wanna be seen
just setting smoke
wrapping threads
around trees.

31.

and the red earth shovelled in
remembering their color, see
as I fixlie on the grey stones
for Tiger, Tiger's grey stones
the grimace of his dead face
clawing at the attic smoke
my friend, I hope I did
I might someday
understand that I cannot understand
to glorify your memory
celebrating condescending
these are the words I know
to speak with
grey stones
for Tiger
Tiger's grey stones
oh and your possessives mark
your certainty
his memory lays with owning
the stones from the backyard
stones from the earth
stones tucked in by my and my
mothers hands cannot own these
I testify with my
little desk machine
that germinates
anyways, the job remains
testify
you hadsawfelt red earth
I placedhopeddropped grey stones
we meander onwards
keeping these with us