NOT SURE

Not sure
if the zip lined cable
and then a taxi city cab
would awake me from my nap
composing a viola sonata
while asleep upon music sheets
under my Angel's baseball cap
then rising to hear
a Bach cantata in B major
waiting for my morning cup
of green tea
with sliced dry melba toast
blueberry jam or pate
from nana's cold jars
still on my lips
to taste a half day
as a dream confection
of Proustian repast
until my freshman visit
to the Coast for an open read
at the free library
giving me down time
to look up "Warsaw"
in a Polish dictionary
which Chopin loved
at his Parisian loft
with Georges Sand,
then I'm trying to find
on a map
"Bardstown," Kentucky
where Tom Merton
had an epiphany
from a clear voice
near an abbey and monastery
by all roads leading
to his own poet's Gethsemani
taking my own daily diary out
on my bench of reflections
at this exuberant October
my lap teeming with croissants
to share with the tiny birds
at this awesome hour
surprising myself
to discover karma
if there would ever be a witness
to my veteran crime drama
written on the city bus
for over a year
and presented to the class
would make it to off Broadway
as I'm being made aware
of the fuss
outside a recruiting station
as two guys argue in Russian
if Tolstoy's "War and Peace"
was greater than any plot
devised by Dostoevsky,
thinking every encounter
addressed to the future
has caressed a past history
of a hot Beat
who keeps it going
by his good acting cast
with an misunderstood
fortune cookie on his lap
along the crunchy valley slopes
of my now snowy childhood days
wanting to cross country on skis
passing over the mountains
or play an alto sax at a gig
near the heavenly resort at Tahoe
watching two opposing sides
at the chess match
near a mission's fountains bench
hearing a heated argument
as their words catch up to me,
now the players link arms
asking to be engaged until noon
laughing at each other's jokes
until their dear John and Joan
love letters are within reach
in a beer bottle disposal
not burned but buried
until the year 3000 A.D.
near the sandy song birds
who hover along the sea's beach
as this couple wave to each other
floating as my mind races
near red and orange leaves
and golden Fall mums,
I'm strumming on a Spanish guitar
given to me at the mission
to face the river beds of Autumn
fixing my motorcycle spokes
within reach
then riding away trying to believe
there is way to live lyrically
and vanish under a half moon.