We love each
other's beautiful souls

and that's enough

slower
than evolution
we ride
waves into the brutal
time machines of her
afterthoughts

You want to see
my joy,
you'll have to be very
quiet my love

(so silent as to not hear your
own heartbeat)

You'll have to let not only my story
go, but your story about my story,
and your own self that you see in my
self)

after all that silence,
then when you let go of that silence
and see the stillness
and find what is behind the stillness

Then there is something for you
my love

Teen dream
of escaping Christmas
(the Western nuclear conundrum
parasiste-capitalist-paradigm-of-guilt-
destruction)

Thirty-something enter the Asian
Miasma (destroyed in it's facsimile to emulate
America)

Burned out, scarred by fire and sent home
by the embassy

only to return unbroken to the
teen angst fears
humble facade of crumbled
bravado

it's only tears and blood my
child
we can burn them away,
let's burn them away
away
away

Somewhere/Somewhen
my hippie dream is sleeping (dreaming)

in a Mexican poncho
with very long hair
with grass in his pockets

Old Vinyl (Beatles, and Dylan
and such) spinning

Poetry on napkins
everything coffee stained

Her reflection of
herself in
me

was a shattered mirror
she was afraid to look at

Fractured beauty

maybe the part of her
brain that felt empathy
was turned off by her
own pain

and that pain opened another
part that told her she felt what
others felt

through the shattered reflection

Ole country boy why
you livin in the big ole city
can you hear them streams a
callin

(you ran wild in the forest all them
years ago,
foolin with the motorbikes and such

and the police couldn't catch us
ever

and the good times they
stands on their own

yes them good times
stands right up and holler
on they own)

Wave rider

of the fantastic 

time machine

Skull driver

Dimension warper 

this mind

Can't keep up with 

the changes

too free to play 

it safe

They bleached our minds
bleached them white as
snow

Forgot to tell us about
the mother-lands
Mama-Africa
Mama-India
the rest of Asia

All the beautiful original peoples
we are just lost ghosts
faded into pale
contortions
of empty techno-triumph

Destroying with
consumption

My long lost
brothers and sisters
living with the forest
with the desserts
close to the trees and roots
and animals

forgive me for leaving
all those eons ago
take me
home

Just a skeleton with wings
am I

Freer than the spirit
who haunts this planet

Waiting for the oceanic
experience of the womb

Something like the cave-shamans
and the big mama goddesses of
35,000 years ago

When women led the tribe with
loving tenderness

before man forged iron
or even threw stones

Cave-mamma goddess
take us back
in your arms

Asian pear
hints of candy
aftertaste

Succulent
perfectly round
and juicy

Can you build your own
machine

Deconstruct the haunted
cities of your mind

My Radio is A time Machine
Her hair is a universe of its
Own

(Maybe I'll dream about
Everything you Say)

[so I had this old
record player in Brooklyn
once: with a Crystal receiver]

The luscious Primeval forest
of her Young
old soul
innocent
Mind

Wilderness of pain
freeing into the vastness
primeval forest

Do you remember
the last outpost we
crossed

Entering the smooth
wilderness of our
vast connection

Motorcycles drove us to the
border then we walked on
soft moccasins beyond
the beyond

(hey, there we
go,

wow, there we
go)

She told me about
some salt-shaker box
they moved into in
Utah,

and that she never dreams of
wings anymore
and how she came clean about
what happened in the 70's

Insisting a little too much
about how happy she
was

Yeah all them Fluxus
poets, musicians artists

Keep on flowin man
play your guitars on the
subway,

Sing just like Bob Marley
(pretend that it's the 1920's
and you're e.e. cummings
in the Village)

Why should we capitalize
his name, when he did
not

(So go write
your poetry)

Drink up,
fill your cups,
love your women

Dreamtimer man
dreamtimer
get on with it

the shuffling off to paradise
it's just them whiskey visions
sober up man
sober up

find your
own visions
find your own
god

She's good at
believing the lies
she tells herself

Tells me she don't mind
givin' up the ranch

and that she never really liked
horses anyway

And who else will carry you
in her womb
and suckle you at her breast

and swaddle you in soft blankets

To Hallow one's self
as in sanctify, create
a sacred image that
can be worshiped

All Hallow

So we danced way past
midnight
with the spirits and the blood
and the angels and the naughty nurses
and the overgrown schoolgirls

Music raging we fevered
through the moves

and waited into the morning for
the F train to come
and all the revelers in full
regalia pouring through the
turnstiles

Everybody talking and laughing
all the strangers grooving to each other
and we were singing

and we laughed all the way to Brooklyn
The whole train-car