Poems by L.G. Corey

Late-like afternoon.
Blue hour
of uncertain shades:
smoke and fog
on Wolfback Ridge,
creeping down
the concrete steps
to cruise the streets
of Sausalito
hand in hand.


NOTE: This is the third poem in my newly-begun work-in-progress — a poetic account of the years I spent in the hippie, artist community of Sausalito, CA during its heyday, roughly between 1959 to 1961. I was in my mid-twenties back then. It was there that I had my first real taste of freedom, my first weed, my first peyote, my first living-on-the-streets, my first beard, my first long hair, my first gay experience . . . . none of which I regret and all of which I cherish. This work-in-progress will go as it will, for as long as it wants until (if at all) it reaches completion.

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