everyone else's trip

caught up
in everyone's trip
but my own

let his be called
codependency
or laziness
or kowtowing to the guv'nor
or bowing butt-backward to the donkey
or quite simply not caring about myself because
I don't know my Self well enough

I long to share communion with others
with some a cup of coffee
a tear, a sigh
a laugh, a sunset
without entanglement and mutual self-mutilation
without the lose-lose prenuptial for the "hello-please-thankyou-goodbye ceremony"

maybe some I need to walk away from
some --
parasail

maybe there's someone I can
lay down with
in a field of dandelion tea bags
free of fee and spam and scam
we would let the breeze blow down the arid nose-bleed mesas
the monstrous skyscrapers of schemes and greed
the fantasies we get caught up
in our zippers
when we are fascinated
with other peoples' trips

well, until I find that friend
I will lie down in a field of dandelion chai
blowback the day in a symphony of
carelessness
cloud spot until I have fallen asleep
dreaming of her,
strawberry sunsquash, likewise-alienated soulmate

vintage bass, circa 1975

no particular logic
to its platypus get-up

electric bass
eel pie, vintage, worth more
with a pick-up missing
than a new blue Rickenbacker having known
Spaghetti-Lee's
magic hands

varnished, shellac-finished
stands
like a rake
leaning on my couch
as if in an alley,
poised to light a cigarette
to eye a skirt
to lay down the law
in thumping, stumping, junkety funk
stuck in the 70's
astral projecting toward a new home
in the third world of some future U.S.,
a mankind now mojoless
mocked by its rock and roll past
waiting to be saved
by the rhythm that permeates
its shocked soil