I am down to the last three stix of
Nag Champa
lover packed, when I left home.
Some burnings summoned calmness,
the intention one applies for.
Others, simply hung like a distraction
and sank in sneezes.
Tonight, I burn + listen to
CocoRosie.
Simultaneously
calmed down,
and turned on
by finger tips pressed
hard against skull,
and imagining the
Rainbowarriors coming.
Nostrils flare.
Champa
mixed
with already
potent
Autumn
air
..,.,.,,.,,..,.,,.,.,.,.,,.,.,.,,....,,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,
There are no mountains here,
nothing to really Summit.
Summit is thr straight double-wide main street
I run.
The raised greenspace is
heaped in the middle,
cutting through
official lines of traffic.
Down the center of grassy earth
is a furrowed path.
Thousands of
feet
woven
narrowly
through
long planted
pine,
maple and
alder.
The street's offering
promotes
bounding
within remote
privacy,
body to earth
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