Grateful Dead

In afternoon, sunbecomes more precious, spare near evening, as it falls toward that spot, there on the mountain. That far spot, where trees thin and shale shows through. You can see the shape of the world there at the curving edge of sky. In the last moment sagebrush burns red. Then stars. Pale and countless as dust as ashes. - Sharon Brogan

It is an ordinary deathfor its time, family in a clot around the high, white bed, gull at the window. The man on the bed sticks and twigs, remnants of pain. He opens his hand, lets mine go. The gull lifts from the sill into the solid wall of sky. - Sharon Brogan

Answering an arbitrary alphabetical advertisementBy boldly brandishing bombastically brilliant bytes Can certainly comprise cacophonous caterwauling (Desire deems derivable daunting dialectic deeds Elastically expanding ego's ersatz erotic extremes Fearless few find flawlessness flowing forth freely)

Resist your reason; embrace entropy.

When one wakes in the nightdespite sleeping pills, white noise machines, orthopedic pillows, and thinks of oranges --such sweetness-- there it is, that orange, floating brilliantly in this dim room -- and all the things that one must make sense of -- Nehru jackets, bouffant hairdos, threatening French nails -- your attachment to top- less bars, those artificial orbs, that tooty fruity booze -- all this demanding explication in the swooney night with its train whistles and sock-it-to-me buzz, love, American style, the ed- ification of this planet's turn to darkness, the rebellious suicide of the sun, the sweetness of oranges -- where is Lawrence of Arabia when you need him to peel this open, to hand you, one-by-one, these white-veined crescents, dripping with light? -Sharon Brogan

I sleep on a high blue bedbetween clouded mountains. I am growing a new brain. This one will be sparkly and fine; it will float in the fluid of compassion. I sleep flanked by two fine dogs on a high blue bed between brushed green cotton and purple flannel. I am growing a new heart. It will beat to the rhythm of dreams. Who is it that wakes in the mornings on a high blue bed in this bowl of thick cloud? Is the waker fashioned from this real, or this imagined, world? - Sharon Brogan

St. Distaff's Dayby Robert Herrick (1591=1674) Partly work and partly play You must on St. Distaff's Day: From the plough soon free your team; Then come home and fother them If the maids a-spinning go Burn the flax and fire the tow. Bring in pails of water then, Let the maids bewash the men. Give St. Distaff all the right; Then bid Christmas sport good night And next morrow every one To his own vocation

THE LEAFS HAVE WON THE STANLEY CUP!!!THE LEAFS HAVE WON THE STANLEY CUP!!! HOLY SHIT!!! THE LEAFS HAVE WON THE STANLEY CUP!!! I hope to hear it my time

...and there I was all curled upin a song, remembering the words I had etched on paper from a summer writing I had done about what I had done. So for sport, today I'll type what I read...so you can read it too. I slipped a rolling paper from the pack. I gently wiped the sweat from my sweaty brow and laid it to dry. I had some tobacco on a tray and I spit at it for as thou it were a blessing on it. The dried roses in the vase had many a thorn, I snapped one off. I pricked my skin, like a diabetic, to bring blood across the external threshold that keeps me. As the blood revealed itself I dragged the rolling paper into it and it turned red in spots, then, placed it to dry. I took some time to think... as thinking is to be. I thought about how I was just near dead so near dead, it was close enough to... um yeah, I thought of good and I thought of bad, I thought of my favorite people that lay dead and all the skin, unable to be. My blue eyes filled with silky tears I did not think but then I knew cry into the tobacco and let it dry. I returned hours later after being participatory in breathing. There was a moment to never before; having just arrived. I picked up the skin of now ten thousand chuckles and bent it. I was inside and outside of me and going to beat death one more time! I pinched and put and winced my eye as I rolled a cannon to point to the sky. It was handcrafted and unique and no one around (so to think). I evened it out and twisted it up and with a special kinda lick then made it stick. To bring this one to life I had to get my 40th Anniversary BIC lighter to bring the flame with one special light. I tipped up and in festive supplication pointed it to the sky then woosh it lit. ( insert high cheeky grin). Then next round of thoughts were so jokingly serious. I can't forget Willie on this one so, yeah---one for Willie! I was take back to Rothbury when we smoked the roses from the World Peace Roses before the Dead started. The remorse intact that Willie Nelson didn't get his Roses from the World Peace Mandela Sands. I gave them to My Uncle who was one of Willie's best fans and he had them with him to his dying day. My Uncle is still one of the greatest men I have ever known. My Aunt will not let us smoke him however. My love for him was in those tears, he's in. I have so many beautiful gifts to remind me of his love, we will be forever together in spirit. He loved to smoke Camel's til they cost ten bucks a pack in NY. I inhaled again, sweet and tasty was I. I exhaled and laughed with silliness; it was innocent and robust. As I went for another hit, I knew I had smoked myself, and that I indeed...was good, xo!

Rowing Gently I'm rowing gently down the stream They say that life is but a dream But where the walls come closing in That's where the rapids begin I feel the rushing of the stream I hear the laughter and the screams So hold on tight for the ride We'll make it to the other side I'm walking gently up the trail Into a land of fairy-tales A grizzly bear hands me a flower While pointing to the Rocky towers The trail leads up onto a Table Where people gather telling fables Pilgrims singing nature's song With the Grand One looking on Singing, I believe in your Love I believe it's enough Be it easy or tough I believe in your Love I sail a board upon the sea The wind has come to set me free And as I dance upon the waves Thanksgiving washes over me And suddenly I want to sing I feel the wind beneath my wings While gravity is letting go I get the feeling that you know That I believe in your Love I believe it's enough Be it easy or tough I believe in your Love I'm rowing gently down the stream V1-Am-C-G-F V2-Dm-Am-Em-F Chorus-C-G-F