marijuana, a knarley moon, and the shaman blues

stranded at the wrong hour of morning
i’m granted an audience
with a solitary crow
perched proudly in the great dead tree
across the street
i watch him, and he watches me
he knows, that i know
there are just too many secrets between us
yet still he speaks
measured, like penetration
in the final moment of release
crows communicate
in a sequence of two beats
such a clean and binary language

stoned meditations
sipping a sonic soup
sadness stems from the loss of art

tripping over lazy feet
as legends call with laughter
what will you say,
at that final moment of death?
rebuilt or reborn
as mysteries speak
in moments barley conscious
my god is in the trees
your god is in the sea
and our god is in the sky
mystic firefly
we are all connected
so never avoid the eyes
for their truth is rarely concealed

logic held hostage by love
i’m inching around the edges
commemorating the wind
with the birth of dreams
and a setting of sunshine
in the universal punchline
of subtle poetry

delirious prophet
perched on the promise of dawn
i’m singing to a world gone deaf
from a billion background voices
no more human than the last
and now suddenly cast
as an odd machine
the devil is just disconnection
and the universe smiles
with a million burning teeth

drawing symbols and signs
with women and wine
the gypsies are dancing
in circles divine
and
i’m just a cosmic cadaver
coded in the cadence
of a cartoon kabala
waiting for something to happen
waiting
for what’s new
to be made old
and what was then
can be now
and what is now
can’t wait for tomorrow

most days we’re just
breaking butterflies
along a paper horizon

they say only fools
reach for the sun
but remember
the world is too amazing
to be weighted and ruled
by ordinary madness

357-marijuana-a-knarley-moon-and-the-shaman-blues

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