concurrent disorder

thank You Taya for bringing it up
as I paint the walls a mauve

and then I come here rattled by the vivid
dreams I wake in that are more real then
when I awake in reality

the green and They whom watch from
the forest and windows shadowed empty
like eyes with thoughts

the souls of homes still scratching chimney
songs when the winds have grown
the blue depth of dawn

how they go on and on

i remember Shelagh tucking poems for
me in the brick of the old Central Hotel
and slipping them beneath the chairs
of the Chinese Resturant

If I had only known they were there
sipping coffee with my packsack
near "They" always near

not taking my meds
taking chances with the world I know
I miss the wavelength feeling
not the half dead being
submerged with my Poet Wolf killed
whom spoke the best

and how he likes me now
that Ive seen the ways to walk the wild
amongst the "They"

"The ghosts of us" he says
and I try to remember what he means

I can smell the kitchens cooking smells/
feel a draft from a year in a room/
and if I turn I know I can see the sunlight
in the ghosts eyes that sits but lets
just sit here I think
Its nice to have company at times

even if its an ache

my freind Karen told me yesterday
that perhaps MADNESS IS REALITY

and though Im lost since then
I know I will find my way around

and in the travel write here
from this poem
that spoke so well
to us Both

I'll teach you Elven if you teach me GRENMENWALLIAN