Cleaning Day

The floor of my apartment is burnt umber tile 

dotted with flowers…when it’s clean, and I 

look down, I’m happy. I just cleaned it today, 

listening to Spirit 1968, doing my rota at the

commune in Topanga Canyon. Big old ranch

style house big front porch with swings and 

rockers…outside sunshine and birdsong…

inside music echoes smoke wafts bodies 

move or stay still digging it all a couple of

spoiled dogs African Grey in a cage on the

porch somebody playing a banjo in the 

distance down by the creek…

The Sixties were haunted because we 

realized time had pulled a fast one on us

changing the country with suburbs and

t.v.s and lawns…goodby neighborhoods

community so we went back with farms

and communes acid tests Merry 

Pranksters eternal hippie ballrooms 

goofing off in bus stations and all night 

diners…it worked for a while.

Laurel Canyon shambience..the general 

store used to sell LSD…now, it just has

postcards..the homeless have given 

bums a bad name….America keeps

dreaming…”woke” a one word 

oxymoron…there’s always another bus 

…until the last one.