......shit man-- (where did this come from?)
"Visions in the Carpet"
Walking back and forth entranced by the night sky looming and weaving
Above my eyeballs
And the little white children looking like dust and blown by the spring-wind
Are dancing just for me
And I want to catch them on my red tongue and ask them their names.
What is your name?
I tip my hat to the sun as he is engulfed by the horizon
Horse hooves
Galloping to the other ends of the earth
Where women in nineteenth-century textile mills
Tie the ends off
Here I am walking forth and back, stepping carefully and
Crossing the river.
The mountain bows in the distance and the willow weaves in the wind.
Walt Whitman, why are you in my bed all glimmering gold and
Open to page three?
The window is wide and I can feel your presence like the sun
As it is filtered by leaves and twigs and trees--
I do not believe everything I hear
But sometimes I hear beautiful ridiculous things
And cannot help but convince myself that they are facts.
No matter how ridiculous they are
I will always love you.
Whoever. You. Are.
So I stand entranced and hypnotized for
Some time--
Wandering in and out of consciousness
The cat is laying in the window right there
(Wherever that may be)
My mind is a menagerie--
Instinct and intrigue
Fighting for their rightful territory:
To fuck or not to fuck?
Is there even a difference?
And I wonder if the hour has gone off and
Died somewhere.
But alas! My mind becomes to reality--
Called back by the clock
The trees resemble angry old men
With pinched faces
And veteran eyes
And can one call it "wisdom"?
On the other hand--
They are just trees.
But the way the moon shines on them
Must certainly make them something more.
Surrounded by the tall grass
Have I ever felt so free? Before.
I think of Socrates and wonder
What it must have tasted like--
Hemlock?
A light decrescendo-ed down from the sky
And betwixt my gaze
A moment ago I was conversing with the fire
Listening to the sparks fly and pop
Like little atom bombs
I asked him to recite a poem for me
And I believe he did
And-- out of our whole party of six--
No one but I heard it
And certainly no one (me included)
Quite understood what he was talking about.
Sometimes I am just a man-in-the-present
But right-now is so short
All the time
And all the while
Time whiles away.
The smoke-eyed child rose from the ground
Smiling
Working her tiny legs up the hill; her hair
Blowing
Like the willow branches in the wind
And she brought me a flower-- in hand
Red
And from a Dionysian paradise,
Where the bees do not stop bumbling about
Buzzing and pollinating endlessly
The flowers are particularly beautiful this year.
And she hands this particular one to me
Smiling.
It is a holy moment.
And the white-haired-dusty children float around us
And that was how I knew.
She smiled and
I wanted to weep!
I hope to never bring such a beautiful child
Into this world.
It would be too much.
And I would feel too guilty.
And so
The wheels turn.
And so
The birds cricket.
And so
The wild gets wilder.
And so
The walls crumble.
And so
The trumpet sounds.
And so
Our bellies quake.
And so
The hour lays to rest.
And so
The fire went out.
And so
The visions ceased.
And so
We were born.
And so
We die.
And so
We are born again.
Walking back and forth entranced by the night sky looming and weaving
Above my eyeballs
And the little white children looking like dust and blown by the spring-wind
Are dancing just for me
And I want to catch them on my red tongue and ask them their names.
What is your name?
I tip my hat to the sun as he is engulfed by the horizon
Horse hooves
Galloping to the other ends of the earth
Where women in nineteenth-century textile mills
Tie the ends off
Here I am walking forth and back, stepping carefully and
Crossing the river.
The mountain bows in the distance and the willow weaves in the wind.
Walt Whitman, why are you in my bed all glimmering gold and
Open to page three?
The window is wide and I can feel your presence like the sun
As it is filtered by leaves and twigs and trees--
I do not believe everything I hear
But sometimes I hear beautiful ridiculous things
And cannot help but convince myself that they are facts.
No matter how ridiculous they are
I will always love you.
Whoever. You. Are.
So I stand entranced and hypnotized for
Some time--
Wandering in and out of consciousness
The cat is laying in the window right there
(Wherever that may be)
My mind is a menagerie--
Instinct and intrigue
Fighting for their rightful territory:
To fuck or not to fuck?
Is there even a difference?
And I wonder if the hour has gone off and
Died somewhere.
But alas! My mind becomes to reality--
Called back by the clock
The trees resemble angry old men
With pinched faces
And veteran eyes
And can one call it "wisdom"?
On the other hand--
They are just trees.
But the way the moon shines on them
Must certainly make them something more.
Surrounded by the tall grass
Have I ever felt so free? Before.
I think of Socrates and wonder
What it must have tasted like--
Hemlock?
A light decrescendo-ed down from the sky
And betwixt my gaze
A moment ago I was conversing with the fire
Listening to the sparks fly and pop
Like little atom bombs
I asked him to recite a poem for me
And I believe he did
And-- out of our whole party of six--
No one but I heard it
And certainly no one (me included)
Quite understood what he was talking about.
Sometimes I am just a man-in-the-present
But right-now is so short
All the time
And all the while
Time whiles away.
The smoke-eyed child rose from the ground
Smiling
Working her tiny legs up the hill; her hair
Blowing
Like the willow branches in the wind
And she brought me a flower-- in hand
Red
And from a Dionysian paradise,
Where the bees do not stop bumbling about
Buzzing and pollinating endlessly
The flowers are particularly beautiful this year.
And she hands this particular one to me
Smiling.
It is a holy moment.
And the white-haired-dusty children float around us
And that was how I knew.
She smiled and
I wanted to weep!
I hope to never bring such a beautiful child
Into this world.
It would be too much.
And I would feel too guilty.
And so
The wheels turn.
And so
The birds cricket.
And so
The wild gets wilder.
And so
The walls crumble.
And so
The trumpet sounds.
And so
Our bellies quake.
And so
The hour lays to rest.
And so
The fire went out.
And so
The visions ceased.
And so
We were born.
And so
We die.
And so
We are born again.