I have reached paradise.
Blue Mountain Center is ideal.
I have a room in a grey cottage
Overlooking Blue Mountain Lake.
It is a view with a gourmet kitchen
And 10 other Art-types. We range
from playrights, novelists, painters
tarot card readers—political
theoriticians...I'm the resident film geek film man.
I've been reading Henry David Thoreau
and William Wordsworth
—The sky rejoices in the morning's birth
The grass is bright with drops—
-Wordsworth
The weather has been changing, but mostly it is
grey—the grey sky is a perfect canvas
for autumn palette.
The morning mist settles on the grass
and every footstep causes a splash.
The air is thick with autumn's special
fragrance.
Leaves fall, a breeze blows
And I try not to think but to feel.
The wind rustles
And the trees shed their leaves
a brook whispers
something that everbody seems to
understand.
There seems to be
Music everywhere
it's a chorus of fear
as well as the change of the season
that fills the air for me
this time of year.
Sometimes I try to get
outside myself
and just not worry
that doesn't last too long.
Sometimes afterwards
In the midst of a panic attack
A cold sweat rises
From somewhere in this body
To cool it, cool it
I am doing the best I can
Then I hate myself
for wasting all that time.
My hands shake
Out of anticipation
My feet pound
From AZT
I hear more bad news
about T-cells
what else do you think
is on my mind?
What do you think about before you go to sleep?
The stars
Were a thick blanket
Words like
take care of yourself
or else nothing—
no words
haunt me
from out of the
deepest night
there's no sound
no light
Out here all alone on the dock.
Blue Mountain
looms up
like a vision
from heaven
over the lake
by a late afternoon
autumn sky.
