I’m sitting on a hill

contemplating the thrills

that define a life I’d love to live.

 

Chasing timid tornadoes, catching a buzz

at an unhurried hurricane bash,
hopping trains, living in the spirit

of so many of the songs sung by Johnny Cash..

 

I’d eat sausage and eggs, sunny-side up, every morning

at a different diner—as long as there was a sociable waitress for chat.

Then I’d haul on my Harley hog out into the country

Just to be free, get lost, and not give a damn

as to where I’m going or where I’m at.

 

If I saw a good climbing tree, I’d stop and climb it. 

And if I saw a good looking girl, I’d think of climbing her, too.

I’d sing: ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your hair…

The world is ours, it’s our affair.’

 

Rapuda? Rapuda-buda?

No!  I would never repudiate the Buddha.

Foil, or epee, or saber the thought.

(Though I would stab him if I saw him walking down the street.)

 

I’d be Bojangles upon the sunset

and a Werewolf from London upon the moonrise.

And I’d let the stars stare down on me

as I’d hop, and kick and, to no soul in particular,

life’s meteor-frenzied fury rhapsodize.

 

I’d transform into a raconteur of grandiose minutia

If ever you asked me the time of day.

And I’d sing the ‘Knoll of the Mummies’

(a long lost song) the moment

a foxy chick looked at me ‘that way’.

 

I’d imprison anyone who hasn’t watched

the sun either rise or unrise

in a calendar year.

(their sentence would be to rot in a cell

until for Beauty’s sake, they’d cry a single tear).

 

I’d scream ‘Bloody Murder’ everytime

I wanted a Bloody Mary.

And I’d scream ‘Typhoid Mary’ anytime

the biliousness or organizational immensities

served me up a plate of crap.

 

And then I’d yap, no, I’d whisper ‘I love you.’

As, indeed, I wishfully should.

And tender your passion

if  thus blessed, I could.

 

And I’d wake up wondering

the world who you are now becoming

As you raced away beeping twice

In your cryptically vanishing car.

 

Still, it's strange awash thus in this waterfallfoam of life
with an undying dream of someday meeting you. 
Crossing pinkies.  Pressing lips. 

Still sitting on the same cemetery hill
watching the sunset where
it seems I've known and loved you forever. 
Still wishing you the best.