A candle in the dark,
A star on the windy sky
I tell a broken bird

"reach high"
fly...

No more the victim
Always the rising star
Everything you can be - is
Everything you are.
--11/1/98

Bus People (continued)

An eclectic barrage
of faces...tongues
And little children
Chattering to their mothers
The man with the red wig
Drifts in from the fog
Revealing himself
As a writer of science
fiction games and books
He wedges himself
Next to me
intimating details
And minutia of his
imaginings.


Out of the rain appears
An Amazon with a smile
And a yellow slicker.
She discloses her
Shiny badge...
A security guard earns
five dollars an hour.
The red-neck boys
Sit in the back
loudly harrassing the beautiful
blonde securely behind the
Wheel..."All she needs is
Some great sex-with me"
...one of them is carrying a rifle.


The old sit hunched
over their treasure...
Their bags and their clothes
are faded
smelling of mothballs,
sweat and urine.
The young adults are loud
and cheerful
Distracted by each other
they gossip and banter
and flirt.


The winery behind me
leans on my shoulder
ordering two boys
to call each other brother
"never a step; only
a brother."


We are all traveling together
Down the same road.
With similar destinations.
The morning
bears an amalgamation
of scents
As the freshly bathed
And bravely dressed
Arrive
With important jobs to
attend
They hold their heads
a little higher
And step a little more
righteously
Than the elderly
the drunk
and the mothers
with children.


But there are always those
sitting near the front
facing the rest ...

Watching
and listening.

-1998