Untitled

Some car screech, mean
child, bitch gossip, dirty
old man, new war,
garbage street day.
I spit myself a cave,
and you better not give me
any of that
Almond Blossom Shit.
Later
when a damp feather weed
sun field, safe as my
bedroom
morning comes along.
I will
bring out my dulcimer
and sing,
knowing I am alive
knowing I will die,
grateful for your company.

25 February 1977 English 222