walking day,
obligitory
transmission melted.
I still like to walk
wait in the gutters
strange corners
with strangers
convicts making good
and the others,
making bad.
it is nice still
to see
smell
hear.
as I walked through the chula vistan mortuaries
j street crematoriums
made up
palm trees line the streets of the dead
I dreamed
inspired no doubt
by the air surrounding,
slow processions
weeping faces
black clad gatherings
sweating it out
in the late summer
late morning sun.
dreams of my death
how I go
where
and the party to follow.
I want to be dropped in the ground,
in the midst of a great corn feild,
under fast moving clouds like today
just a bag of cotton balls
torn apart by a young pup
and strewn across
deep, deep blue.
young corn rustling.
buckets of beer.
I want to fly everyone there,
all the different folks
that I have been with,
seems like a million,
I want to see,
from just up above,
how the dancers
the freaks
the insane
the sane
the pious
the brilliant
ridiculous
brave
old
new
loud
beautiful
mass of people
that have been my life
would all get along.