This is one from 9/28/70.
It's called "The Extra Environment" Came
out in the little Phoenix magazine, Inscape.
You know, we carry--
it's hard to explain these poems.
At this point, I don't write about anything I understand.
If I understand the poem, even the beginning,
if the beginning makes--
seems too simple to me, I just I just throw it out.
We carry different dreams, and different ideas,
and sometimes I just hit at the right moment,
at the right angles.
"The Extra Environment," I'm referring to those things
that we carry, you know.
You must get out of me.
There are others here who died in this canyon.
I have no desire to kiss the woman you dream of,
how easily you duped her.
This party, people I've never known.
I am not at peace continuing your life, your woman sucking
at my tongue.
Where is this apartment?
As real as the lichen, cracking lava rock for soil,
the rabbit drinking dew, a buzzard waiting his agent,
the jaguarundi.
In the inner cycle of life and death of the canyon,
there are ancient ones I seek.