Glasses For the Middle Eye

Once I found grizzly bear scat
in the middle of a trail I was hiking alone
two days and a boat ride from anywhere

wading flooded creeks,
climbing through chest-high devil’s club
wet clothes for days
it all made sense at the time

I wasn’t the first lonesome word miner
in those mountains though
Jack Kerouac’s fire lookout cabin
was a few ridges over

decades later the original
Dharma bum and I still
talk across the pressure ridges
the years have folded up between us

hey Jack, if the world had wheels, would you ride or push?

the sea speaketh, remember why’m a wave?

written any poems on your side of the Dharma wheel?

no time for poetry, but exactly what is…work from the pithy middle eye out

no, I think of poetry as a merchant ship, not a luxury liner

accept loss forever, man

I reach over and turn off the internal reading lamp
of visionary tics shivering in the chest
I am planning a trip to the Dharma bum’s fire lookout
I’ll let you know what my pithy middle eye
can see from there…promise

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