conversations

[creativesoul]

the street has a voice- it just comes on like confusion, like fear- like wanting to cry in a public place- not being able to hide anywhere- that shame seems like humility after the anger goes away- the indignation- that it is happening to me- why not me? that is the fuuny thing now isnt it-? how any of us =including me ever thought i was safe or exempt from the long arm of the law- obama is taking people s shit- and the guy in the mini mart somewhere near where i got those moccasins gifted to me- on a road trip- before the dance- before the wooden movements of a tired old woman disguised as a troll- drove me over the edge- before the spirits told me one story and her another-
careful of the queen bee tribe and the iron tribe-and all the tribal norms of society have driven me to discussing what i see as a future with the corn-
while in the streets of portland i was walking thru this lil park- where all the people from the addiction tribe hang out and the got outta jail tribe-lost- confused and ready to cry- because my little friend lived in those streets and slept under those bridges and she - showed me that sadness-
i was feeling it all- quite by accident- as i was looking to get to a 'juice bar' with real juices and awesome salads to have lunch with my son and his beautiful girlfriend-and - well- i am not the speacil with the taco missing anymore- it is nice to be home here in my head with out the garbage from so many years filling it with a barage of wish it had been different s turned into = im going to make this life thing fun-and it seems to be working- i do not miss the suffering or the long deep conversations- i think- perhaps - when that hawk flew over me and my whole back felt beautiful- that the bigger picture is always better than what i can come up with-