National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum
April 16, 2016
There was a journal kept in 1968.
I thought of it as a brother.
We attended lectures on art,
paraded drunk for the oppressed,
dated a blonde marble girl
whose father kept hundreds
of discarded tires in their yard...
and we ran through Marin rain
saying we were Pony Express horses.
Raggedy years... seven decades:
it's a blurry coastline,
I am often in my darkest room.
The years of seven decades