Dharma Bum

I wanted to give you everything I had:

The depth of the sea,

The pure honesty of the sky,

The dependable dirt between my toes,

The rain drops sprinkled with laughter and love.

But, you were a nomad-

Wanting the gift of free will,

Bumbling around town

Like a guy from a bad seventies rock band,

Leaving behind a wake of cigarette butts,

And empty stares:

Blue as the sea,

Frosted over by winters chill.

Alone with my gifts-

I froze over, twice more.

The words you left me

As a parting gift

 Stuck to my memory

Like molasses on marble.

All I can see now is the twisted look on your face

As you said:

“Love is not free— I’d rather be a dharma bum.”

Like Jack Curuack, you walked away with that swagger of yours.

Your footsteps mouthed the words:

“I don’t give a fuck.”

And I sat alone,

My spoiling gift in hand:

The complexity became confusion,

The honesty became hatred,

The dependency became drunkenness,

The heart became a pile of sawdust.

And I lost you

To the mystery of the night….