 Frantically searching, waving paper in hand, Uncle Bone can't find pen or pencil. Zen cone poem, trying to extract itself from dream. Nothing to write with, not even a crayon, fire and blood instead. In mourning, poem found scrawled in dirt like an American Indian sand painting that vanishes with the wind. Time and place, meaning and madness, promises, none made, too few kept. Someone sing, looking for the word in the heart poem, found in a book, a small miracle of words. Sing someone, clock and stone, fire and bone to be alone. Someone sing, sing someone, to sing to someone, a gift. Someone to sing too. This is my latest poem. It's called San Francisco poem. Sound of Foghorn in the distance, the city's home. Frisco, a city who has slept with poets, knows the responsibility of that sacred union. The city quiet tonight like a shadow. Uncle Bone and me on the waterfront looking at the bay and moon's reflection. Every place has a memory. Here was where the long shoremen held a strike, 83 days, 1934, and two were killed on a bloody Thursday. Layers of memory, another forgotten San Francisco. Bone is a holy man tonight, an old time preacher, teaching stones to talk and how not to lose one's way in the dark. Bone musing, time is a subtext of every story. This is not carowax San Francisco anymore. When the bums were holy angels of the night and a dollar bought you a bottle of cheap wine that made you sing to the gods, that San Francisco hasn't existed since mile last played the blackhawk. Maybe it never existed. The summer of love a faint echo, no bums now holy or otherwise. Homeless now, marginal psychotic drug-ravaged humans litter the hard streets. Although some say San Francisco soft as a kiss now, only for the wealthy, obsessed with money and status, lost its soul. Soul is still there, hidden, bone hisses. It involves another kind of seeing. Start by letting go. Do not seek and it will find you a kind of prayer. The city was always a place of imagination and vision for some and for others as home, as simple as that. The first people, the aloni, have seen it all. Midnight visions, angels in badness, birth children and wash the dead. The history of suffering and wisdom. Bone shouting now. To be optimistic in a negative world, I eat fire, sing fire, dream fire and wake to reign. Give the prayer wheel another spin, live by the code of sharing and let the stone teach you. Teach you to cultivate silence and if you're lucky, a song. Thank you. This one was written as I was waiting in my doctor's office. Not the big room, the waiting room, but the small room that they take you in from the big room, waiting for the doctor. Here is my little Kaiser thing, so you can see how much time I had in there by myself. If the moon is a woman, nocturnal light guiding a man's hand and always try to see with heart too. Moon, magic, woman, nightly movement across the sky and night and mind and dream. Magic, moon, woman, let us receive you. Man hidden in shadow needs light of moon, of magic and woman. Light pathway, too long in shadow. Light, shadow, magic, sliver of moon. Woman with candles, sometimes that is all the light we need. There is no silver bullet, miracle cure, midnight is coming. Climate change, a cold hard fact. President Johnson was warned over 50 years ago this the most serious threat of all, the collapse of our civilization and the extinction of much of the natural world. Devastating climate change, shamefully ignored by our corporate overlords, corporate media and politicians. Those supposed lovers of God and country in that order more concerned about saying a prayer in a school room than life and death. While a tsunami of evidence washes ashore, greedy politicians spend deceptive propaganda unleashed by fossil fuel companies and their mercenaries. Political hacks from both parties, godless lovers of God. 50 years ago, the warning came which he still dismissed by screaming fake news, scorn reality, deny the truths of nature. This is a pure and simple madness. Destruction and death, droughts and floods, all for a few empty dollars to stuff your pockets with. Myopic deniers of truth, look at photos of your loved ones, your children and your grandchildren. With all your talk about family, a melting glacier in the Arctic can create devastation and flooding in the Midwest. There is no future in naysaying. Mr. Republican, hell is waiting for your souls, a special hell where abortions are free and immigrants rule the world and you must praise Allah and your flesh will be nibbled on by insatiable hungry rats. All the while kindred spirits of earth fight for a better world and accept responsibility for this daunting fight. Fight the hard fight and tip the scales back and find meaning in all this blind delusion. The message is that we are in this together and that belief is a flower that will grow inside of us, sprouting newer and better dreams. One more, one more. Okay, one more, because I'm in the mood, one more political one. Ha ha, exactly. We are a ticking time bomb now. Christchurch, Sri Lanka, San Diego, now added to the seemingly endless list. Hate piled on top of more hate, psychotic love of God, an excuse to kill in God's name. Here in America, NRA, with your twisted loving embrace of guns and more guns, the myth of safety and freedom, guns are not a right no matter what a 200 year old piece of paper says. The real right, the true right for all of us to be saved from patriotic insanity, love of country and guns. Dying is fine if done correctly. Death by gun is evil and legal, ugly. We have the right to live and die safely, to move safely in our streets and community. Too much violence by gun, too much violence in the name of God. O inclusive God, if you exist at all, radiant cosmic warrior of love and unity and never hate, never hate. Allah, Christ, Ganesh, great spirit, why so little light and so much darkness? Has it always been so? This little blue dot earth floating in the sky, a little way station in the Milky Way inhabited by the animal man. Great spirit, forgive our xenophobic myopia. Give us starlight to guide us. Show us empathy and understanding. Is it our animal nature that has led us here? Wearing us, fear of the other, Ganesh. Help us reach beyond the petty gods and tyrants, taste the sun and moon, the fate of kisses, and to let each other find their own way peacefully. No need to give into that darkness of spirit, joyless prison of hate. If there is one thing I know it is this, the light of dreams and reality is that we are all in this together and together we sing. Thank you.