Bixby Canyon Bridge

I descended a dusty gravel ridge
beneath the Bixby Canyon Bridge
until I eventually arrived
at the place where your soul had died.

Barefoot in the shallow creek,
I grabbed some stones from underneath,
and waited for you to speak to me.

And the silence -it became so very clear
that you had long ago disappeared.
I cursed myself for being surprised
that this didn't play like it did in my mind,
all the way from San Francisco,
as I chased the end of your road
'cause I've still got miles to go.

And I want to know my fate.
If I keep up this way
it's hard to want to stay
awake,

when everyone you meet
-they all seem to be asleep,
and you wonder if you're missing the dream.
You can't see a dream.
You can't see a dream.
You just can't see a dream.

Dream
Dream
Dream
Dream
Dream
Dream
Dream
Dream
Dream
Dream
Dream
Dream

-then it started getting dark.
I trudged back to where the car was parked.
No closer to any kind of truth,
as I must assume was the case with you.


-DCFC

You See Berkeley (Under a Willow)

Willow, -water rushing, the brush,
crinkled leaves, and windy thrush-
there are a thousand more sounds
to name, -there are winged bellows,
mossy slabs, flaky stumps like the
one I'm leaning on -and all together,
humanly, earthly, they, we, i, sway
a lazy, but indelible customary sway.

What's Necessary

Silence in the avoiding words: fine. you. okay. love you.
You don't know the meaning of garlic mashed potatoes,
nor do you figure to make them the way you used to. I'm
an ocean nothing floats on, and your the swimmer swimming
in the lake. We were a chord progression, designed in

melodious harmony, new, free from face, from saving. And

now we're sinking. Your drowning, I'm spoiling, selfish
in an "own way".

I've pushed and you've pulled. And you've strangled.

You are the ocean. I'm imperfect. But you are the ocean.

Godot

"Let us not waste our time in idle discourse!
(Pause. Vehemently.) Let us do something, while
we have the chance! It is not everyday that we are
needed. Not indeed that we personally are
needed. Others would meet the case equally well,
if not better. To all mankind they were addressed,
those cries for help still ringing in our ears! But at
this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is
us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the
most of it, before it is too late! Let us represent
worthily for once the foul brood to which a cruel
fate consigned us! What do you say? (Estragon
says nothing.) It is true that when with folded
arms we weigh the pros and cons we are no less a
credit to our species. The tiger bounds to the help
of his congeners without the least reflexion, or
else he slinks away into the depths of the thickets.
But that is not the question. What are we doing
here, that is the question. And we are blessed in
this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in
this immense confusion one thing alone is clear.
We are waiting for Godot to come-"