Memories of Saunders Close

mornings on the fire escape.
drank coffee listening to birdsong
in the trees around the garden.
the bing-bong of announcements
at the rail station carried
through the air. such peace.
one summer i waded through
ken kesey's giant 'sometimes a
great notion' novel with a photo
of bob dylan for a bookmark.
i really knew myself back then,
but i didn't know i knew. i had
an hour daily with kesey, the
birds, the bing-bong and the soughing
wind before i put on my face
reluctantly and went down into
the home. the complications
that blew me too far from the
peace i found were self-made,
though i put the blame, in true
bruce fashion, on everyone but me.


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