Leg Kicking Dreams of a Mongrel Dog 5-21-86 It is so hard to take my meaningless dream Out like this upon a page, trotting it out Like some mongrel pup that doesn't quite mean anything, But there it is staring back with utmost disregard Of all propriety and dignity, quite capable Of creating a stench before your very eyes: The rose arbor of Banning Park shelters, Now, napkins, cans, cigarettes and straws, And countless days bearing this abuse Till I repudiate my roots and wrench Loose seeking a path where my boot won't Trod upon another's print nor my steps be heard. There is a violence in such tearing loose (Bespattered fountains and litter-lined walks, Though there be, and the click click of metal heels And challenging looks) ah what it would cost To change it all -- I could not pay. It is better far to seek some other way: There was a misting rain one day High on Smith Mountain, and I ran To see the center of a mild storm. All was clean up there, and slick Such that a rock that slipped away Might lose itself in the sound of leaves. I left it there in the deep coolness Sending up steam to blend with the mist. Running back then, I could not sustain That purity, nor could it sustain me. There must be another me treading upon Some other path, ah me, down there.