All Saint's Day

Berkeley today

still a few hold-outs left

from the 20th Century

Grass-hopper

Chinatown branch

of Oaklnd library

Drive-by mural,

Bus through what was

formerly called

the ghetto

El Dia de Los Muertos

altar at the clinic

for folks over-sixty

Seems rather philosophical of them

November first is pay day and I was in need of

many things and traveled on to downtown,

to Telegraph herb shop

walked uphill onto College Ave

missed a bus but rested and after

copping coffee

found my self walking toward BART

nearing Chabot and 5 o'clock

All Saints Day a day of obligation

and here I was at St Albert's chapel

where my favorite Mass is said

So I rushed over faint from

end of the month austerity

a CBD vape pen only few days

and today's considerable exhaustion

All that vanished the second I came in

radiant resplendent gold vestments

and altar cloth

The white robed Brothers and the

laity all soaring in Latin song

Not all Latin and this is the place

became a singer

The priest talked of the saints

as the living Beatitudes

and the foremost was

Blessed are the poor,

It was like welcome to me

in my somewhat desuetude

Ihadn't planned to come to Mas

and the others tended toward

a shiny new clean clothes look

You may keep your status-seeking

and materialism,

The priest and my thing recalls

the phrase,

My goal is beyond

Communion was borderline

over the top mystical ecstatic,

Afterward the priests in procession

with candles in gold holders

and the holy crucifix and sensor

we were led out in the gloaming

Chester showed

and insisted we go to supper

I couldn't agree more

and we retired walking

the exciting twilight high street

to a creperie

Following it we landed

at his place for a joyful smoke-out

An exemplary display

at the hardware store

 Proprietor smiled when he heard me

say unaware, I trying to stop

taking Halloween pictures

but this one's too good to miss

Sometimes

when I examine my conscience

I ask myself if I haven't been

something of a grass-hopper

fiddling through languid summers

while the ants stored-up for winter

Holy strange synchronicity, Robin,

another art encounter

with the Monkey Wrench Gang

The sense of humor

is as much a necessity

 in matters of one's death

as it is for the matters

of one's life

Chester and I got baked

at his warm pad

then I took to the wing

Bat man was hogging

the Bat Cave spots

So I had to park on the street

1 November 2017