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VI... from the Rain

I discovered myself long time ago, on a seed back truck outside the cirty of New mexico rifling through my packages beneath a tarpauline to protect new clothes she brought. I sailed round the harbour into Rhode Island, up the Whenquechinochi swamp with terrible pains in my stomach.
Knowing I had consciousness on my side I slipped into a red bikiniatoll sloop dx56 and traveled up north to Maine stopping in North Masachusettes for meetings with angelic hipsters and idealists who were revolutionisidng the nature of the can and the revolution swirled through thickets on ice off bends and tree climbed near the Green Mountains, Vermont, Queeche river Gorge, the stop Gap on side roads for cases of schlicks and poetry with madrigals toward the great Lakes afterwards shining with the delights of having again visited Lowell and the birthplace of our Lord, there found myself diging ditches for nightlords who also were establishing their own set of unique facts while the summer haze and the sea breeze dawned became a wandering silence in the apple orchards of Nevada there were three thousand tourist visitors to the tens that year set up byu Califrnian hitchhikers fuelded with pot and good Times rolling round again off the Angel Camp Base where three thousand more police waited pretence on their heavy shoulders of the Night, then outside wandering round the rim of the Grand Canyon in full headresting upon lap Sheila nd mandy and Cartwright and Lauren! There too the old Grump himself, Jack liberated from the tight amplitudes of the mountains was thinking hard as the desert rock of Utah, hard as this was to stomach seeing him like that all forlorn and glooming, loaded with nothing but his past, a thin stream of tears down onto the sound at his lost Egypt and the demise of his ideas , ‘it’s hard,’ I said. It aint no picnic either, saifd Jack drawing in closer to me on the sand small rivulet fractals of our cosmology repeated patterns in the sna. OPh how that universe of ours was expanding! We were alive with it, From summer 85 through 89 we were fables then, uncertain of a future but sure, beneath it all that we could and would raise our consciousness in to the dreamlike Mythos of Americas, the trail of Sangre de Christo, Bertha Luhan, Mabel dodge and Tony were there, with Henry and Anna biting their nails for wont of anything else to do. Baron Roth from New York catapulted a beer across the open fire, caught by Elmore and the dude. Next coming through the camp with Jerry was the nurse, she wore the yellow dress he had bought her mail order from the hotel in Lagos where the Cmweroon kid had jumped ship. Whoop la. Hello! Greetings Earthlings! The slim slam dunked contest of Parisian forfathers field the intensity of it while the surreal blue black clouds of the desert campgrounds roared with the eagerness of a new born child.