Crossing Border Festival in Holland

we travelled the high speed train through
Belgium to holland
red tiled roofs. streets narrow and people
riding old black bicycles
co-op gardens and small garden-shed
fields of soft poppies moving in dismal
white patched cows lolling in jungle
green grass
crossing tracks in train yards with red trains

in the carriage/2 Belgium men with strange
effeminate sandals whisper in a world I
don not understand
they are wearing matching t-shirts and
seem to have a message

that week in holland/sunny afternoon
making love on make-shift bed –
the children outside making happy. noise

buildings of the hippie complex on Albert
Schweitzer boulevard in childlike colored
panels of turquoise and green all looked
the same

down two flights of stairs in the ghandi
room/Merle our companion practicing
his new poem
our performances critical-posters all
over town/in. store windows announcing
our readings and blowing around wet
streets emphasized the importance-

I pick lavender with you along garden
paths/walk along the canals of Amsterdam
drink espresso in your coffee houses
mingle with the best of your poets and
musicians in backstage dressing rooms
on folding/drinking wine and smoking
legal pot

holland you have bought me here. in the rain
travel-tired and cold with wet luggage/a fist of
unfamiliar guilder in the palm of my hand/
wanting my poems about America to shake
you up just a little bit.


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