A bittersweet stroll

Time has messed up my handwriting .

I am waiting for the rain  to wash away 

all my regrets...

  It was in the patchwork scent of the ' 70s...

  storm tasted like neural acid  .

Decade of lost children .

  The guitars sounded harsh .

Subtle note of patchouli ...

 I was born the day before ,

between Ocean palisades and hotel California...

Now ,I have cloudy reflections in my hair 

and kids no longer believe that Michael  Jackson 

walked on the moon ...

 I met my first girl flower on a trip to Neptune .

 Once summer of love is over ,there's always 

someone who never comes back  ,and we wonder 

which one is missing from the photo...

 I heard that some nutcase escaped from the hotel California

set Pacific palisades on fire ...

  On an imaginary worldmap  where I cultivate 

fields of writing in the gentle trade winds .

 Chained by the sound of those siren-like vowels 

that disrupt the unstable geography of my mind...

  I listen to the messages of the rain as it wets 

the path of life ...

  I think ,it was around 2030...

   The future is already behind us ,

by the time we begin to  live .

Bittersweet stroll along the ocean ...