Dust Dancer in Two Parts

by: Donn Goodside 1

Homeless Dreams ___2

The men dream ‘Dreams as a child 3

and it is with fresh eyes when they wake4

That they see what has been written in previous sleeps5

Another world / the Other worl,d runs parallel6

Perhaps a step ahead or behind 7

but always just out of sight 8

They try to capture that which is lost9

The world that was meant for them10

is not the world in which they live.11


Empty Pockets ___12

He tried to lose his self many times13

Running in darkness14

Hiding behind the shed15

Finding a busy intersection16

and letting the world pass him by17

He has lost his self in book18

In film19

In the bottom of an empty glass20

Or a whiff of smoke and drift of mind21

. . . a sad song on a Cemetery night22

When he came back to his self23

Having fought so hard to be who he wanted to be 24

His pockets empty25

He had lost his ID.26


C’ Train ___27

He jumped the turnstile unseen 28

Intending to ride the train for free29

What he saw was not as nice 30

As he had hoped and dreamed31

The ‘Stations were filled at every Stop 32

With tired people and weary Cops33

Platforms lighted in cold neon temptations34

with Scent of Carmel Corn and urination’s35

Then he heard the Conductor’s enunciating cry36

"Utopia Station is closed for construction37

This train is now running express ___ and will pass it by ".38


Hitch Hiker ___39

The leaves of Fall color'd up 40

So ___ he found center and faced South 41

" Might as well start walking your ‘*bunny* some more "42

He said to his self 43

He had gone back home 44

It wasn't there anymore 45

He had no future C’ept his next step 46

Hungries forced asleep 47

Dead-air feed'n on his innards 48

And yet ___ never had he felt so alive 49

He felt the wind push him further along the highway 50

Pushed by the driving force of Peterbilts and Reo's 51

Death a dark lonely step just to the left of shoulder 52

Watch OUT ! for falling rocks53

Walk-a-step54

Impact on the endless lostness 55

Despair unworthy of the energy required 56

Onemindedness 57

Step impact step ___ step 58

Taillights stop59

Door open 60

light on friendly face 61

Smile ____ Jump in as a grateful alley-cat seeking shelter from the rain62

Sot, footsoak , water-blister, blood wet of another years-end drizzle 63

Feels the warm fragrant above his own Zen-stench 64

Step Step Now Ride.65


Rucksack ___66

Pretending not to hear her call out to him 67

He saw only the Sun disappearing on the road ahead68

Rejecting comfort and safety 69

In lieu of adventure and curiosity of shadows70

The warm eyes of protection and clean soft sheets 71

of a Mother’s love / have been sewn shut by Dragonflies72

these many years73

Now ___ he trembles at the cold hard ways of the world74

As he wanders ___ looking for a warm, safe place to sleep75

With nothing but his rucksack and the errors of his rebellious youth.76


El Gatos ___77

Padded feet on deserted streets78

After-hours as others sleep79

With half Moon hidden80

Behind clouds and trees stripped of leaves81

Familiar walks of solitude and classic etude’s82

Whispering in tall Fall grasses83

Fences blending into shadows of the night.84

As Life’s fabric of mystery weft and weaves85

There are gardens of purple hush86

With no access for trespasses 87

No stone pillows for the restless and the lost88

That wander the Forever in dirty sleeves89

The air smells of dog and war 90

Avoiding the *bunny* of Death 91

That tempts his contempt of the pleasures92

Society so eagerly receives93

Being alone is his preference in life94

NOT the cackle of woman and bleating sheep95

Or those that would lie in wait 96

To destroy dreams and dawns of precious sleep.97


the Invitation ___98

Embossed 99

Elegant and Proper 100

With White Glove upon Silver Tray 101

___he imagined 102

would surely come103

To announce his required presence 104

To attend this day105

His Fellow wordsmiths and other known 106

Notorious Poets of the Dusky Café 107

___ would say 108

Come speak 109

Bend your phrase and entertain us 110

On this, your sixty-first birthday111

A celebration that would envy Cyrano112

Don Quixote and those other guys113

Wine, laughter and raucous noise 114

Out on the town with the boys115

With this ___ 116

a gentle tear did shyly slip117

Past cheek, mustache and hidden laugh118

"My life has proved to be ___ all that I have dreamed"119

___ and with that120

A crack of burning wood and steam 121

Did rise to wake122

From within that rubbish barrel of fire 123

To warm the homeless and dispossessed 124

he Quaked ! in cold damp shoe and common cloth 125

Of yesterdays still dressed 126

Breath of kerosene and hunger now asleep127

Did creep Round to avoid the shift of wind128

That hawkish did bite the face 129

Covered in smoke, ash and forgotten sins130

For which he must now pay for his mistakes131

Of pride, rebellion and anti-social ways.132

"Ahhh ___ but, those were the days133

Those were the days".134


Crossroads ___135

The Autumn wind had stopped136

Silence came upon the road137

Something inside of him cried138

Seeing his self there139

Becoming part of the clouds140

He knew part of him had died141

Not the self he knew142

Just the husk that carried him 143

On that worldly ride144

Though he failed to find145

The treasures left for him,146

Satisfied ___ That at least he had tried147

Now Old, tired and beaten down148

Toothless ___ Wrinkled with a permanent frown149

He pondered his search for the truth150

Requiring only facts and absolute proof151

Seeking with all due diligence152

Utilizing all his acquired intelligence153

Having finally finished his required lessons154

All he had found ___ were more damn questions.155


Empty Bag ___156

He opened the bag that he had carried a lifetime157

There was a lot of dark empty space158

Some memories, smiles and tears 159

That never found his face160

Knowledge without wisdom161

Wasted energies162

Experiences never intended163

Pain he cannot erase164

Many failures and disappointed others165

He had met along the way166

Many books unread167

Many games left un-played168

In his search for what ___ ?169

He’s still not sure170

His motives though well intended171

Thoughts often impure172

He could have been173

Should have been174

He meant to be so much more175

He barely managed to carry176

That dusty bag177

Now empty ___ laying there on the floor.178


Stones in a Stream ___179

As he tried to continue his meaningless life 180

Grumbling ___181

Assigning all negativity 182

To that which his eyes beheld 183

His spirit damped and soggy 184

With the clay of life’s drudgeries 185

He came upon a narrowing of the way186

The Hall of Doors ___ closed187

Attempting to turn and return 188

From whence he had come189

the girth of his consuming190

Swollen ankles 191

Weakened by excess192

He could not193

Stifled by the smalling enclosures194

His gaze went floorward 195

and as his chin touched his chest196

His windpipe bent197

The scent of his failures filled his lungs198

As a wounded naked child in the chill of the long night 199

He pondered his decisions in life200

and could find no fault with any other ___ than his self 201

He had rejected the wisdom of experience202

Going his own way in arrogant delusional defiance203

With too much pride and too late in the game to change204

He accepted his fate and was slowly being erased from the Book of Life205

There are still other unread books 206

Flapping their pages in the dust 207

Soon too208

Their words will be bleached by the Sun 209

Ink washed away by Spring rains210

They usually appear darkly on the street corners of cities 211

Staring vacantly as the rush of life moves around them212

As Salmon swimming past stones in a white water stream.213


Plod ___ 214

Plod ___ the men 215

Trying to stride216

Their steps now half and halt217

Burdened by the faults of uneven streets 218

Always grading up219

Plod ___ a step220

Another tired stair tread climbed 221

Beyond where they should have stayed222

To let the world pass them by223

Sometimes they rest to reflect224

The remains of yesterdays225

Only the face of strangers change 226

Plod ___227

What do they hope to find 228

Around the corner / down the street ?229

A friendly smile in those they meet ?230

Or perhaps proof exists 231

GOD ___ or some other curiosity.232


End Game ___233

He hadn't wanted it to end like this234

Shuffling ___235

Dragging one foot236

Elbow pressed to his waist237

Holding up his rumpled trousers238

Whimpering with each painful step239

Drag stop 240

step 241

wince 242

drag ___243

Not too long ago He was the man he thought he was244

A sons hero245

Strength of his loving wife246

Now discarded247

Unable to carry the burden248

As flotsam upon the sea of man249

Drag stop250

step 251

wince252

drag ___253

He thought of Fire-Fights254

Gallantly dying for Ideals of State255

Enmeshed in battles with Comrades256

Hero’s all ___ but not this257

Scorned by the new youth as he once was258

Ignored by the fluttering lashes of girls bright black eyes259

Drag 260

stop261

step 262

wince drag ___263

Pulling his upturned collar closer to his throat264

Windblown strands of hair in his eyes.265

Praying for that long warm sleep of forever.266

Drag 267

Stop268

Step269

Wince ___ drag270


the Last Thanksgiving ____271

Encased in private dreams 272

He walks the streets 273

Through Subway steam 274

Oblivious to the thoughts of others 275

Their wants and needs 276

Lusts and greeds 277

Unwed Mothers and children crying 278

Hungry homeless cold and dying 279

From cheap wine 280

With nowhere to safely sleep281

All that remains is Pride282

Of what ? 283

Embarrassed shame ? 284

A strangers name ? 285

Nothing remains in who he had hoped to be286

So he wanders in whatever direction 287

The wind blows his back 288

Across the tracks 289

and through the brush of once garden's pruned 290

Manicured till bloom 291

Of fragrant wafting airs 292

Turned to sickly smell 293

Of graves 294

Now frozen gates to hell 295

Leaning against granite reality296

Scrapes his knuckles and barely bleeds 297

Feels the need to rest298

Exhausted299

Crumples and collapses300

The stars remain fixed 301

His world spins in ellipse302

Forever turning 303

Churning through the airless void304

"Push the swing higher Timmy, 305

I want to touch the clouds"306

His Belly flutters 307

Eyelids squint against the light 308

Wind whoosh chases night 309

Summer and being seven 310

Follow him 311

Down the path to a porch well worn 312

An unlocked door 313

& his Mother's scolding scorn314

"Your hands are dirty and you're late for Dinner".315


Dust Dancer ___ Part II316


Dressed in the rags of times and places317

Signifying in loud incoherent phrases318

With bluff and blunder319

Talked a storm320

Sang as thunder321

Scaring tourists and their children322

From tame towns that have no Zen323

With once dull eyes they had come324

To see just another homeless bum325

Believing their lives were the ‘Only’ way326

They lied to self327

Wishing they328

Could speak the magic of dirt and dust329

And do ___what the dancer must.330


'We all gotta eat our own ‘peck O’ dirt.' 331

People occasionally move away. The houses, do not always find a happy family, to move in and keep the place warm and dry. Such is, as it was with my old house. When my Mother and I lived there, cold water pipes would freeze every Winter and soot covered the windows all year long. Warm baths and home cooked meals of ‘Yankee Pot Roast and Baked Potatoes with Sour Cream & Chive, did not exist. There were, in its stead, imaginations, swirling in cigarette smoke. A chair that rocked constantly. Dirty fingernails and damp musty clothes filling the bathtub. Then the house became empty of us. Other people moved in and moved out, over the next thirty years. I had come back, seeking the warm childhood, that never happened and found the house unoccupied again.332

It always seems to be Winter in Michigan. I was unemployed. Unshaven. Divorced and my shoes and socks were wet. No one I knew, lived on the street anymore. I stared at that cold house, where reality slapped my face. I saw the distortions of my life, reflected in dirty windows. Making my way ‘round back, to the ‘Coal Shed, now empty of its shale, ‘the door never did fasten securely,’ a shoulder shove is all it takes, to open the door and let the smell of dead air and years of burnt bacon seep out with a sigh. I wandered through the empty rooms that seemed much smaller, than I remembered them as a child . . . and COLD, ____ damn. It’s cold? The cold had settled into the unpainted walls, floors and ceilings. No amount of heat, could warm the memories that I had of this place.333

She still rocked in her chair. She still talked to the walls or railed against the husband, that had left her. 334

The small coat closet, on the other side of the room was empty, except for one wire hanger, which I hung on the last remaining hook. I squeezed into the closet and turned around, as a dog circles his spot for the long night to come. I left the door open, just a crack, in case Ma’ came back. I had returned once more, to the womb of my past.335

The memories did not playback, as an old Black &White movie, all assembled and chronological. More like, samples and scraps of photographs and an intermittent shushing of white noise. The remembrance that I experienced, was out of sync, having nothing to do, with the memories that I had. The cold finally numbed my brain to sleep. Occasionally, I would wake with a shiver and a start, when the old wood framed house creaked and settled. Or maybe, a strange memory crept in, possibly belonging to someone else, that had once lived there. 336

Waking slowly and regaining an upright position was painful. My bladder, insisted it was time to wake and leave the house and find a tree in the back yard to relieve myself. I watched the misty steam rise and was momentarily alarmed, to the possibility of being seen, although it was still dark. A Police Car, pulled up, and an Officer with a flashlight, climbed the front porch steps, talking to the neighbor, who had called about a suspicious stranger seen earlier. I waited, quietly, shivering, behind the bushes and tree. My feet began to freeze. My first instinct, was to show my self, after all, ‘it was my house once. Then the sense, that I was homeless, with no visible means of support, a vagrant, realized. Incarceration was imminent. Eventually, the Police Car left. I too, walked away. Leaving the coldest spot, I have ever known. Years have dragged on. My feet still feel the cold and damp, of that back yard in Michigan. 337

The Doctor says: 'It’s the blood pressure medication, that makes the extremities feel cold.' Perhaps. Personally, I think, it’s the cold memories of that childhood house that root my feet to the frozen past. Life be like that, sometimes. 338

I walk the streets alone at night. Most of the houses, already have their lights turned out. The Moon plays hide n’ seek with clouds and tree branches. I listen to backyard dogs barking and whispers of overgrown grass, at the ‘Widow Bowen’s, swaying slowly as she herself, may have danced many dreams ago. Fences of picket, wire, and mesh, cast shadows, onto the cement sidewalk squares, alluding to snares and pits of demons, waiting to devour my thoughts. Behind the clapboard framed houses, gardens grew, sparse and twisted. 339

Sometimes, I stop and stare off into the nothingness. Thinking. 'Snow as cold powder, measured in more feet than me. Drifting up against wood framed houses, Icicles dripping off eaves. Bare black branches cracking ‘staccato, in the Concerto of my childhood dreams. In a world, where the clouds are blue and the sky dirty green. Life is, what it is. Cold and mean.' 340

I had hitched rides, all the way from New Mexico, where I had met this guy called Zuni. Zuni, wasn't his real name. I didn't know what his real name was, so, I called him Zuni, because that was the name of the tribe, he was born into. I was embarrassed when I first met him, because white people had killed off most of his people.341

Zuni wasn't red, as I imagined Indians, from the movies to look. Zuni was the color of Piñon and dusty walnuts. Though Zuni looked soft in the belly, I knew Zuni was strong in survival. I wasn't. I needed Zuni, to teach me foraging and shelter-seeking. Zuni didn't need me for anything, with the possible exception, that Zuni had a ‘need, to watch over his lil’ brother, who still slept while just passing through. Zuni took me to the Church garden, where Nuns, suffering our sufferings, gave us stale donuts and thin sugared tea. After collecting discarded cigarette-butts, Zuni showed me how to strip and re-roll the nasty blend of pre-smoked tobacco. We had to stand between two adobe buildings, which were enclosed between two chain-link fences. Basically we were treated like dogs, kept at a kennel. As long as we didn't bite anyone, or urinate on the worn bed sheets, 'The City Rescue Mission,’ would let us stay the night.342

That night, we were late getting back. Zuni and me, were watching dust dance. Actually, I was watching the dust dance. Zuni was watching some other thing. Zuni was watching the Lost Spirit of a Mother, searching for her missing child. 343

The South-western desert towns had spins of wind or what some call dust-devils or baby-tornadoes. Without warning, the dust and debris would slowly begin to turn and swirl, and all in it's presence, would respectfully stop. Traffic would stop. People would stare reverently and wait patiently, till the mournful Spirit, dissipated into the Other-world, Looking for the right Spiritual door, so that she might find, her missing child.344

As Zuni and I moved towards Sundown, with the Sandias at our back. I noticed a look in Zunis' eyes, I hadn't seen, before or since. I kept up with Zuni the best I could, my inner-alarm, moved by that look. 345

'Lo Siento, the voice from behind the locked door, said, 'Sorry, all the beds are taken for the night. Come back tomorrow, at 4,O'Clock.' 346

'NO bed for the night. NO food tonight. Was that the look I saw in Zuni's eyes? I didn't think so. Zuni and me, had experienced many sleepless, nights, without food or a bed, since we met. NO, that look meant something else ___ then, I felt it.347

It’ came through my flannel shirt. Through my ribs and through my kidneys. It was the Convection. Zuni explained to me, that Convection, was, when the heat of the day, slipped over the horizon with the setting Sun. Causing the cold air of the Sandia Mountains to be dragged down to the basin below, where we were. The temperature dropped 40-degrees in 40 minutes. The few teeth between us rattled and clacked. Zuni and I were experiencing 'Hypothermia, and we were freezing, in 45 - degree weather. 348

Zuni and I stomped our frozen feet, in some sort of tribalistic, mockery, limping and lurching through the dark, dusty streets, of broken glass. The Authentic Mexican Restaurants, that we couldn't afford to eat in, had ugly green garbage dumpsters facing the alley. Zuni said, "I'm going in. You comin"? 349

Sniffing the scent, Cocker-Spaniel style, my thin child-like voice, said, no! I watched as he dragged his self, up, into the odorous dumpster, and closed the lid. The CLANG, was a slap in the face of the whiteman. I turned on sore feet, and slowly walked away. 350

I huddled in doorways with my back to Sandias laughter. Kicking Adobe walls to keep the blood circulating in my toes. I walked and stumbled, as if drunk. The water-blisters broke inside my socks and the sticky-wet, squished between my bleeding toes. 351

Lifetimes and many deaths later, the pastel hues, of pink and powder blue, came quietly upon the Mighty Sandias. I found a rare piece of green grass surrounded by the desert's brown dusty dirt and slept till the Noon Sun, burnt me awake. 352

One shoe on. One shoe off. I hop skipped, towards the Rescue Mission.353

'I can't let you in yet. It's not four 0’Clock,!' 354

It was rumored that the pale green, white-man that controlled lock and key, was so afraid of being set upon, by all the men he had locked out, that he hadn't felt the warmth of the Sun in thirteen years. The green-man, looked at my bloodied feet, saw the desperation in my eyes, and my fear of saying anything. Slowly and cautiously, he unlocked the door.355

I washed my feet, carefully, slowly, painfully. I lay on the lower bunk with the throbbing feet up on a pillow. Then, one by one. Two by two. They came. The misfits, returning to the only place, that would let them fit. Even If it was, only three nights a month.356

'YO!, man, you seen that Indian guy, I was hanging out with the last few days?'357

"Haven't you heard"?, said a boilish pimple, on a well cratered nose. "Indio didn't wake up in time, and the garbage truck compacted his *bunny* all up".358

The picture in my minds eye, saw Zuni's-Being', tossed around in the garbage, broken glass, and stench of rotting, decaying, dog meat. Zuni's screams, unheard behind the noise of diesel-engines and pneumatic pumps, charging, Bones broken into shards, piercing the flesh over and over. I rolled over and vomited down to the bile. Someone threw a shoe, and all, cursed the punk-*bunny*, white-man. I think of Zuni, more often then not. If only I had only stayed with him . . . why does someone always have to die, before you decide, it’s time to find the right road home? Sometimes, I think it was a prank. A sick joke, that Zuni and his pimple-nosed friend, pulled on me, and even now, they were laughing, at the soft stomach, of the soft white man. The real me, the inner-man, that lives beyond the bile, knows the truth and wisely keeps the truth to it's self. Because, I know the tone and timbre of Zuni's voice, as well, as I know the sound of my own. 359

'YO!, white man, why are you dredging up memories of my Spirit, into your pitiful existence? You know my Spirit has been disrespected. Now, what are you going to do? Relive the horrific pain and scars from my Soul's eternity? If, that is your concept of the after-life, keep it to yourself. I don't need it. However, at the very least, remember me in all my splendor, before I met you, 'white-man.'360

Then Zuni slowly slips from my consciousness, as times before. Slipping into the other world. Looking for the lost child. looking for another little brother, who slept, while just passing through.361

The Autumn clouds gathered. Rolling slowly across the small town quiet. Oak leaves tensed in anticipation of the wrenching winds to come. The birch trees, tightened their iron grip and braced their bark against the chilling. All things joined in sighs, breathing in the last long warmth of Sun. October’s Celebration colors emerged, for their frantic dance of dying. Spent, then drained, the cold shadows fell into nocturnal slumber. Memories fall away in swirls, mere dreams of another time. The world slips to sleep, as man, once again, prepares for war. ' Moon of many names, come out from your hiding. show your face of blood. Shed the pretense of ‘romance. Falling leaves whisper your true nature and changing seasons announce, that ‘ten colds, will thin the herd, before the realization felleth, that WE, are the harvest.'362

I realize I’m talking out LOUD, to my self. There is no audience of appreciation.363

Every day I am borne anew, through the mud and sludge of decadent dreams and some vague remembrance, that I’m connected to my past. I stare at a mirrored reflection that I do not recognize. My cold pinching shoes feel too far away to tie, as I try to remember, where I’m going and why. My face feels the sting of one hand clapping. My eyes focus on the world outside of my self. The colors change from ‘Daliesque vibrancy, to being all sooty and smelling of sweat.364

Ahhh, it must be time to go back on the road. The mirror is not just glass upon a wall. The mirror is also memory flashbacks. The ‘works of our hands today, are molding images, for future reflection.365

I had tired of the life I had been living, so I drank. I drank a lot. I danced with bar flies and any woman that could hold me up. Slow dancing, One two, One two. Hair soft washed, inhaled warm. She fit into each step, anticipating. We moved as one, with Drum, Brush and Bass. Our minds focused on being in the moment. Discarding worldly problems. Only we existed, in tune with the croon, of my ‘pretend voice. Expressing my soul, because I was unable, unwilling, to break the bond of our dance. We tried to keep that eternal fire of our youth. The shimmering, blur, of colored lights, spun around the semi darkness. Our steps, scratching salt into the hardwood floor. Then the music stopped. We held onto that moment. Extending eternity. Then consciously, embarrassed, we slowly drifted in opposite directions.366

I still remember that dance. I never did ask her name. 367

Another day of the dead, as I stare at my empty bed. I see shadows of the Moon, as time falls behind. Love had grown old and turned to dust. The papers of Divorce, have finally been signed. Disappointment, has replaced my once young lust. Words can no longer describe, what is left of my mind, as once held hopes and dreams, now slowly unravel and unwind. The Sun turns dim, and grows small upon the western sky. Clouds from the east, join with clouds from the north and grayness comes into my world. The ecstatic colors of Autumn leaves, silently fall to ground. The Dog Winds of Winter, called forth their biting, knowing, she was no longer there, to warm me with her smile. 368

Something was missing in my life. It has been missing all my life. The Reflection. Seeing my self, in someone’s eyes, seeing me as I am. Most people saw me as I appeared. Not as I am. Others saw me as old, but not grown up and they wished, I would go away and bother someone else. It seemed like, just yesterday, that I sat across from her. Looked into her eyes, hoping for the reflection, that said , ‘I want to be with you, for eternity and beyond.’ I did not see that reflected in her eyes. She did not see me as I am. I am missing her, in my life. 369

The scent of Fall’s burning leaves, had brought back memories of her. She had asked, 'How I was doing?' and I had spoken, as a child in pain. Seeking sympathies relief as a puppy. I should have seen the hard leather coat, the motorcycle grease, and known, she was not impressed with me. I was vulnerable and in need of her strength. She was bored with me and needed more than I was capable of giving. She turned away and was gone. As I castigated my own weakness, Sheila came around the corner, speaking with her soft eyes. I barked abruptly. She recoiled as if slapped. Thrusting my hands deep into my pockets, I shuffled through the dead leaves of an empty street, wishing I had someone, with which, to share that October night.370

He spoke, saying ‘Follow Me.’ / I said, ‘I ain’t No Priest.’ 371

Barely had the air escaped my lips, that my life turned left, veered into chaos and the magic left me. The protection ripped from above my head, as the wind rips the splines of an umbrella, turning it, uselessly inside out. The Earth continued to turn slowly, slightly askew. Rolling towards the Sun. Warming one side, then the other. Till day was done. Night had come. He continued . . .'Do not be alarmed by the Roosters rude awakening. This has always been. There is no escaping the purpose of our being. Wagers are placed on our inability to see, through the illusions of dreams, that we think reality / belief in our own immortality. We have forgotten, that we are the repast’. The hunger, sated for now. Asleep under the Moon, dreaming that we hear cries of the wolf. Roll over till day wakes your eyes. The gods are hungry for our demise.' Then, he walked away . . . whispering, 'Let the games begin, war is once again in the wind.' 372

I stood there, and felt truly alone for the first time. Who was that man___ anyway?373

I lived in a brown paper bag. I tripped and stumbled over my words. I searched for the precise, defining entity, that would express and state my position in the world. Searched for my relationship to others, who wrestled with that same vacant feeling, of not belonging. I was seeking, the self. That within, which I did not yet know. That evolving creature, that is borne out of hope, that I might still become, more then I was. Foolish as I was, I wanted to be who I suspect, I was meant to be. Before the hammer slings and controlling others, began their molding abuses. Before the brain washers, washed away my individuality. How audacious I must have appeared to others. How arrogant I must have been, to want to be me. I tried to sleep. Drifting in and out of life’s here and now, as the dream would not dream and I would not wake. Not completely. 374

In the ‘Nether World, my third eye blinked. I saw the shape of darkness, tall, filling the doorway to where I lay. Like as to a man, clothed in black. Yet, black is a color. This was the absence of color. There was no sound. No alarm. A void in space and time. Perhaps, it was death come to see if I still lived. Perhaps, it was Father’s angel, sent for reasons unknown to me. Or maybe, it was just the fever of depression, leaving the shell of me. Not yet! Not yet, ( I cried ) as I was unprepared for life, I am unprepared for death. There are still questions unanswered, and I will pass this way but once. 375

I had this awareness that someone I did not know, was walking behind me in my dream. The street, had a sense of familiarity, although I’m not sure from where, or when. I saw a small shop’ on the right and entered, not knowing what I was looking for. It was an old and an odd looking, Bodega or General Store. The few shelves were stocked with items of chips and a few tins of food that held no interest for me. The man behind the counter and another, were speaking words I didn’t understand. I assumed that they were Ecuadorian, as the sound of the words, seemed to be in Spanish, and they had that characteristic look of other Ecuadorians I had met.376

I noticed that they were placing some kind of wager, on a lottery betting slip. I waited my turn, then picked the number 243, that I wanted to play. He began his computations, writing many combinations, adding zeros to the number I had chosen, making the number 3 zero 2. I didn’t want any zeros. I wanted the number that I had chosen. Then the list changed. I didn’t understand what he was trying to tell me. The other person had left and I couldn’t ask him to interpret for me. Not that I would have understood him either. Looking at the list, it appeared to be a list of medical services, with the cost added at the end. Assuming once again that I understood, it seemed as if he were telling me, that he owed a lot of money that he couldn’t afford to pay and was in fear of going to Debtors Prison. Although I felt a sorry for his situation. I did not know why he was telling me about his problems. Then it occurred to me, that perhaps, he was hoping, if I won the lottery, I would pay his bills. 377

I wandered into an adjoining room of the shop and noticed that it was a large, open square, with no furnishings, doors or windows. The floors, walls and ceiling were covered in small multicolored ceramic tiles. It seemed as if, I was always finding my Self, in unfamiliar places, with people I did not know, trying to find my way back, to where ever I had come from. Always, the returning path was blocked by walls, mountains or roads, that had no turning. I was on a long nocturnal journey, in a singular forward direction, unhappy because I was continually lost. Looking for that familiar place in my genetic memory. That far removed place of ancient lives and times. In my night wanderings, I was man, as a homing pigeon. Caught in the middle of a magnetic ION storm and had lost its direction to the place it belonged. I wandered the forever, looking for that warm sweet breast, and the coo / coo sound, of the eternal Mother.378

I woke slowly. Stubbed my big toe and cursed a moment before, I actually felt the pain. The morning paper, reported, that the Lottery Number for last night, had been 2, zero, 3. The shopkeeper’s number, had come out, in the box of my dreams.379

Knowing why, doesn’t make the search go away. Knowing how, doesn’t mean you can stop. There are alternative ways, different days and no one gets to stay forever. There are traps. There are walls. People trip and people fall, and some never get up and walk again. The world continues to change. Nothing stays the same and tomorrow is not always better. Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad, and no one knows, why the wind blows, the water rises and why everything must die. Wishing will not make the pain of life go away. Life, just is. 380

I wasn’t afraid. I had found peace, in the understanding, that I was not happy. Only idiots and brainwashed robots, were always happy. I was at peace with the acceptance of my life. I’ve been to the other side. You know, crossed the line. Where the juke joints live and people die. Where the rhythms have a hitch and some jive, and the words flow as a sudden snow. Kinda unexpected. Where the rules ain’t as important, as the fire and ice, going through my veins and the sound of underground trains made me feel gritty in my B-flat’ strains. The city made me crazy. Air I breathed, kinda hazy and I couldn’t take it anymore. So, I poured all my feelings onto the page. Bounced off the ceilings with all of my rage, to see if it would fit, into the message I had writ. I have been, to the other side.'381

I went to the corner bar, for a drink. Smiled my best smile. Put a twinkle in my eye, and said ‘Hi. 382

'Let me ask you a question, she said softly, ‘Would you be flattered, if a woman twenty years older than you, tried to pick YOU up?' The illusion burst, as a soap bubble. Suddenly, I was 61 again. My yellow fingers, smelled of burnt tobacco. The hair in my right ear, began to tickle. My face felt a rush of blood, as I stood wilting, in my too tight, cheap suit. 'Excuse me,' I said, almost in a whisper. Walking away older, then when I came in. I stopped drinking Wild Turkey, after that. 383

Now, years later, as I think back on the days when I was younger. The Church in white-washed wood, still stands on that Summer Sunday, some sixty years ago. The sky is still greenish blue. The clouds are still puffy gray, and the bells bong’ soundlessly, as only a dream can sound. I see my self as a child, standing on the street corner outside. Trying to develop pictures in his mind, as others in fresh washed shirts and pressed suits go in. Looking out from behind dry eyes, he saw a better memory to tuck away, for a future day. Like today. 384

We are all just passing through. If we decide to stay a while, sit a spell. We may be able to rent or lease some place, as we ride this rock through space. We can’t own it, even if we pay for it. The tax man will take it back. Come with bricks and bats. We own nothing, that we can take with us, as we build our towers and bridges. We can’t even take the smell of flowers, they leave at our grave, or the sweat we gave, to make this place ours. So, jus relax. Don’t get too attached. It ain’t ours. We just use it for hours, to do what THEY,’ want us to do.385

As I searched for the key, to open the door. The dull ache of lower lumbar. Shortened breath, and weak knees, stand unsteady against the winds of today. The concert of Winter’s, discordant, cacophony, has lost its appeal. The music has not changed. Only my self. As an old man, I was beginning to see life, as others had always seen life. When we were children, I thought, ‘If one, was to read all the fragments of my mind, at one sitting. A ‘crazy quilt’ would emerge. Too small to cover the sadness. Too large to carry. So I hang it on the wall, like a trophy or an unsold painting for the whole world to see. 386

There are so many of us, beat down over the years. Lying on sidewalks, waiting for our time to die. Splashing words across a wall, that doesn’t matter. Our destiny defined before birth. We have no value left upon the earth. Everybody is expendable. I considered my meaningless existence. Truth is in the now. Everything past, is muddled. Covered with a widows veil. Distorted by pride and fear. That future thing is never, what we had supposed, hoped or fantasized. Only the now, this moment, that eternal space between breaths means anything at all. Empathy with my self, is all that allows me to believe, that I matter and gives me the will to go on.387

No one knows why some choices made are unwise / certainly not I388

Or why some are out of step with the universal mind / as is mine 389

All I know for sure ___ is, I know nuthin’ for sure390

There are those that believe with all their heart / I know not why391

They see things that are not here or there / that I cannot392

All I know for sure ___ is, I know nuthin’ for sure393

While others are willing to kill or die / for an idea that I cannot comprehend 394

or bring about a final end / without trying to mend a broken fence395

To me / makes no sense396

All I know for sure ___ is, I know nuthin’ for sure397

I began writing about all the boarding houses, and single room occupancies, that I knew still survived in the Southern cities and the rust belt of the Mid-West. Peeling paint, and stained sinks. Plugged toilets and showers down the hall. Mental deficient thieves and the morbidly unwashed mass of lonely old men. All strangers, that filled my wanderings. Having to sleep with one eye open and my shoes under my pillow. Wire hangers, hanging, all bunched together, in front of lockless doors and open windows, as a warning device, from second story B&E’s. Always some scheme, cooking in the corner, to rip off someone weaker then your self. 398

Alcohol and drug induced violence, venting blood and vengeance at some unexpected time, yet to be determined. Using ketchup packets from fast food restaurants, adding hot water to make a soup of sorts. Still collecting cigarette butts off the street, stripping off the paper, mixing all the tobacco up, and re-rolling it, into fresh looking, home mades.399

I had tried to lose my self, many times. Running in darkness. Hiding behind a shed. Finding a busy intersection and letting the world pass me by. I have lost my self, in book. In film. The bottom of an empty glass and a whiff of smoke and drift of mind. A sad song on a cemetery night. When I came back to my self, having fought so hard, to be who I wanted to be. My pockets were empty. I had lost my ID. I opened the bag, that I had carried a lifetime. There was a lot of dark empty space. Some memories, smiles and tears, that never found my face. Knowledge without wisdom. Wasted energies. Experiences never intended. Pain I could not erase. Many failures and disappointed others, I had met along the way. Many books unread, many games left unplayed. In my search for what? I’m still not sure. My motives, though well intended, thoughts often impure. I could have been. Should have been. Meant to be so much more. I barely managed to carry that dusty bag. Now empty, lying there on the floor. 400

My life was all grumbling, assigning negativity, to that which my eyes beheld. My spirit, damp and soggy with the clay of life’s drudgeries. I had come upon a narrowing of the way. The Hall of Doors closed. Attempting to turn and return, from where I had come. The girth of my consuming, swollen ankles, weakened by excess, I could not. Stifled by the smalling enclosures, my gaze went floorward and as my chin touched my chest, my windpipe bent. The scent of my failures, filled my lungs. As a wounded naked child, in the chill of the long night, I pondered my decisions in life and could find no fault, with any other ___ than my’ self. I had rejected the wisdom of experience. Going my own way, in arrogant, delusional defiance. With too much pride and too late in the game to change. I accepted my fate and I was slowly being erased, from the ‘Book of Life. Like others, appearing, darkly on the street corners of cities. Staring vacantly, as the rush of life moved around us.401

I hadn’t wanted it, to end like this. Shuffling, dragging one foot. Elbow pressed to my waist, holding up my rumpled trousers. Whimpering with each painful step402

Drag stop Step, wince, drag403

Not too long ago I was the man, I thought I was. A Son’s hero. Strength of my loving wife. Now discarded, unable to carry the burden, as flotsam upon the sea of man. 404

Drag stop Step, wince, drag405

Thoughts of fire-fights, gallantly dying for ‘Ideals of State. 406

Enmeshed in battles with comrades. Hero’s all. But not this. 407

Scorned by the new youth, as I once was. 408

Ignored by the fluttering lashes, of girls bright black eyes409

I pulled my upturned collar closer to my throat. 410

Windblown strands of hair in my eyes. 411

Praying for that long warm sleep of forever412

Drag stop Step, wince, drag413

I knew, I was in trouble. Encased in private dreams, I walked the streets, through Subway steam. Oblivious to the thoughts of others. Their wants and needs, lusts and greed. Unwed Mothers and children crying. Hungry, homeless, cold and dying, from cheap wine, with nowhere to safely sleep. All that remains is pride. Of what? Embarrassed shame? A strangers name? Nothing remains, in who I had hoped to be. So, I wander in whatever direction, the wind blows my back. Across the tracks and through the brush, of once garden’s pruned. Manicured ‘till bloom, of fragrant, wafting airs, turned to sickly smell, of graves, now frozen gates to hell. Leaning against the granite reality. Scraped my knuckles and barely bleed. Feel the need to rest, exhausted, crumple and collapse. The stars remain fixed. My world spins in ellipses. Forever turning, churning through the airless void. 414

"Push the swing higher, I want to touch the clouds".415

My Belly flutters. Eyelids squint against the light. Wind whoosh chases night. Summer and being seven follow me, down the path, to a porch well worn, an unlocked door, and Mother’s scolding scorn . . .416

"Your hands are dirty and you’re late for Supper". 417

Epilogue 418

Have you ever seen a stand of birch419

Braced against the snow ?420

A field untouched by buildings421

Sleeping under nights blue white glow ?422

Or how a country road unpaved423

Weaves among the barren brush ?424

Can you hear winter’s gentle breath425

Beneath a full moons hush ?426

Then you know the peace 427

That comes with an old mans death. 428

(about; Old homeless man wanders into cemetery, dies,429

& spends eternity reliving Thanksgivings past )430

Biography 431

Donn Goodside, born Saginaw, Michigan 1943432

Received Honorable Discharge / U.S. Marine Corps. 1960 -1964433

Attended Saginaw Valley State College @ University Center, Michigan434

Donn Goodside is married and resides in New York City, NY. 435