WHAT I WROTE WHEN I WAS 17 YEARS OLD (1967)

Wide-eyed
And listening,
I walk.
Intent.
Looking at everything.
Rarely understanding anything.

Hey world:
You are a puzzle.
With no piece in place.
Every day I bring my own puzzle piece
With me
As I walk
As I wait


AND:

Silence is electric,
Tense and catlike,
Constructive in mood,
purely emotional.
Silence recalls yesterday's
Singing moments,
Wild laughter,
Brief pauses.
Crying at nothing,
Mumbled syllables
Silence is not emptiness.



When I woke up this morning, my first thought was "silence is not emptiness," so I looked for and found these poems from 1967.