‘When the doors of perception are cleansed
Things will appear as they are:
Infinite.’

—William Blake

‘There are things known
and there are things unknown,
and in between are the doors.’

—Jim Morrison

Moment of inner freedom
when the mind is opened & the
infinite universe revealed
& the soul is left to wander
dazed & confus’d searching
here & there for teachers & friends.
 
 
People need Connectors
Writers, heroes, stars, leaders
To give life form.
A child’s sand boat facing
the sun.
Plastic soldiers in the miniature
dirt war. Forts.
Garage Rocket Ships
 
Ceremonies, theatre, dances
To reassert
Tribal needs and memories
a call to worship, uniting
above all, a reversion,
a longing for family and the
safety magic of childhood
 
 
A man rakes leaves into
a heap in his yard, a pile,
and leans on his rake and
burns them utterly.
 
The fragrance fills the forest
children pause and heed the
smell, which will become
nostalgia in several years.
 
 
An angel runs
Thru the sudden light
Thru the room
A ghost precedes us
A shadow follows us
And each time we stop
We fall
 
 
The Endless quest a vigil
of watchtowers and fortresses
against the sea and time.
Have they won? Perhaps.
They still stand and in
their silent rooms still wander
the souls of the dead,
who keep their watch on the living.
Soon enough we shall join them.
Soon enough we shall walk
the walls of time. We shall
miss nothing
except each other.
 
 
No one thought up being;
he who thinks he has
Step forward
 
 
The Crossroads
a place where ghosts
reside to whisper into
the ears of travelers &
interest them in their fate
 
Hitchhiker drinks:
“I call again on the dark
hidden gods of blood”
 
—Why do you call us?
You know our price. It
never changes. Death of
you will give you life
& free you from a vile
fate. But it is getting late.
 
—If I could see you again
& talk w/ you, & walk a
short while in your company,
& drink the heady brew
of your conversations,
I thought
 
—to rescue a soul already
ruined. To achieve respite.
To plunder green gold
on a pirate raid & bring
to camp the glory of old.
 
—As the capesman faces
poisoned horns & drinks
red victory; the soldier,
too, w/ his trophy, a
pierced helmet; & the
ledge-walker shuddering
his way into inward grace
 
—(laughter) Well, then. Would
you mock yourself?
 
—No.
 
—Soon our voices must become
one, or one must leave.
 
 
There was preserved
 
in her
 
The fresh miracle
 
of
 
surprise.
 
 
open
 
The Night is young
& full of rest
I can’t describe
the way she’s dress’d
She’ll pander to some strange
requests
Anything that you suggest
Anything to please her guest

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