3 Crannies of Oregon

I grew up
on King's Cabin Canyon Road,
a lonely red clay portal
to a world of pines and sagebrush,
deer and coyote,
the quiet symphonies of bird-song,
and the mellow, just slightly bitter taste
of hardy mountain currants

The Wild River Inn
has good, clean, sacred rooms
for good prices.
The upscale, downhome diner
serves a mean veggie omelette,
bacon, hash browns, and hot coffee.
The gift-shop/front office
sold me a fresh-water pearl necklace
the 2nd of two girls wanted badly.
They have a pool I never used,
too busy making love

Nestled in a suburban paradise:
between the mansions, the organic eateries,
and the omni-present Starbucks coffeehouse,
the West Linn Public Library
is quite vast and quiet.
In the poetry section,
(between Frost and William Carlos Williams,)
there is a tome
of my anarchic life
and hard-fought poetic expressions:
echoes of psychiatric institutions
and botched bohemian revolutions