My thoughts are seeds that I hope to grow In this world where soldiers fight, yet the king is the hero But who am I

The article by Abbas Saffari, “Public hanging”, reminded me of a poem I wrote on my return from my last visit to Iran:   I

In the light of the dawn in the purples and grays I was beautiful then tall and sinuous (then) you said mysterious even though I

  I searched and asked What is life? I received many answers, Long explanations of different theories, quotations from different philosophers and on and on.

  I’m gonna come through I’m gonna come clean… Yes I smoked pot here Yes I did Acid I even tried Heroin once A good

  This celebration Recognition that you are I am Alive Breathing In and out, in and out Without thinking Being The extremes and in between

  How mysterious is the fog even though I know there is nothing on the other side except: a drunk, shouting at the night the

Stripped shoulders and smoky leather sighs Sheer dry-clean certainty and old manner tries Lies groovier throws and stupors to dance Allergic flirting near deadly denials