Detour

Knock knock

Who's there

Pete, Keith, John & Roger

Who?

Bingo!

Kamikaraoke

Today disappeared a half hour ago
now the horizon turns crimson and tangerine..
maliciously glimmering with a slow anger.
while the spinning vortex at the nose dances against twilight
creating an incredible contra-rotating center of brilliance.
push the stick down on this flying question mark.
head west,turn this magic carpet around.
look for blue,against the vast inpenetrable darkness.
seconds like minutes,minutes like hours,base is light-years away.
the great loneliness now becomes immensely dangerous
as dials and gauges gyrate counterclockwise,
as if submitting to smooth green hills lecherously rushing up from under.

Hush

Open the door and flick that switch

That shines light on familiarity,

silently,contemptuously,breeding.

And then a little voice whispers

"It's time to be someplace else"

Holden St.

who writes the pages of our lives,

conditions our minds to drama queens in magazines.

sets our pathways and saves us from being alive.

gives us electric obscenity, instead of acoustic simplicity.

who are we if not what we pretend to be.

what are we if not you and me.

where are we if not in the united state of our minds.

seek and you will find

the non-conformists conforming to non-conformism.

lost somewhere in the comfort of numbers i see

kind words, from wild eyes

that speak of the power of butterflies, and hurricanes.

10 to the power of 8 minus 10 to the power of 6.

fractals of strings and straws,

lefthanded minds, and unborn siblings.

the positives of A-, and the negatives of B+.

any room for a negative 'be positive'?

the latitude and longitude of a northern sun across an open courtyard

envelopes the very picture of happiness.

no forests, no echos...just laughter.

i love my friends.

i love my life..

i am kid charlemagne.

Requiem for Allan Young

You were his messenger in times of hope and fear,

his silent consul before i was old enough to comprehend.

So I left him alone with you every night under the harvest moon;

a solitary lamp beside a solitary glass replete with alcohol for two.

Smoking the peace pipe and writing your words on his walls.

But the dying days are upon you, my mentors,

and though the mansion on the hill has been destroyed;

psychadelic music still fills the prairie wind,

as it blows hopes and dreams clear of your forsaken ranch.

All the good people have gone away,

and taken their good times with them.

And the ragged evening of life brings no glory to a restless soul;

just tears and smiles.

And memories of the same avocation 20 years before.