Fall of Love

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Fall of Love

Haight St. was crowded.
Overcast days.
September it’s over.
Back to school.
Summer was crazy.
Did it pass the acid test?
Indian Summer.
Indian Summer.

Incense and urine.
Junkies rule.
Stinking of sleepless nights and sweat,
the street was ruined.

(The Haight Ashbury experiment in free living fell victim to its own charismatic appeal. This once in a century confluence of bohemians, seekers, enlightened messianic con men and hustlers, made San Francisco the vortex of consciousness expansion, and by 1967 lsd had tuned so many minds to this new thing it began to unleash a power that gave it a life of its own, as though it was an actual entity, the power of peace and freedom through consciousness expansion had spread to the far corners of the earth.)

Hustlers overwhelmed good vibes.
The Fall of love in the hippie ‘hood.
All the tribes they moved away.
Indian Summer.
Fall of Love.

Some migrated to cabins in the mountains.
Some took off for parts unknown.
Some made money moved to Marin,
planted vineyards in Napa,
grew pot in Humbolt,
surfed in Santa Cruz,
built cabins in Felton and Zayante,
wrote poetry in Big Sur,
migrated to Sedona, Savannah, Topanga,
moved to Springfield, to Eugene,
Portland, Seattle, Vancouver B.C.,
lived in teepees in Missouri,
built recording studios in Woodstock,
in Hawaii, got married in Fiji,
went on pilgrimage to India,
fell in love in Barcelona, Naples and Provence,
had kids all over the world,
and still came home to Harney Peak.