I know the Henderson’s,
the circus, the lively air,
the excitement
when Mr. Kite performed.

The summer it all happened.
Sergeant Pepper ran
constantly in a Swedish park
where we made deals
and sealed a belonging
with clay chillums
and wild expectations.

Wondering souls of the “Can be”,
all we truly are
is naught but this:
what can happen when you read this.

Memory is a fold, are folds
of a moral code,
nothing to regret,
nor unfold.

Crazy joy was my name,
naive belief in
general goodness.

He blow his mind,
the English army had
no good news.

I certainly did not need a bus,
nor any reason
to delve yet further
into that
I always consider.