None of the flowers you see today
will make it. Did you know?
Or you don’t care?
Their red beauty and perfume
sure make you feel happy,
champagne-bubbly high feelings,
an organic colorful high, but . . .
Why fool yourself!
They are an illusion playing with your feelings.
None of them will make it.
Should I be afraid of the bones and mud I carry in me?
I long to taste the essence of the earth again,
like the mute roots of roses in spring.
But more than this I want to taste the sound
which comes from nothingness
and smell burned pieces of eternal sorrow.
Run with me through the tall winds of unwords
and together see the dark side of light
where time and space forever walk embraced.
Old jokers, two old friends
robbing themselves of the simple delights of mortality.
Should I be afraid of my skin-clay? Or should I laugh?
Like a dying but not conquered angel
fallen hero fighting the thick silence of stars.
Stiff ego, half naked and pale
listening in silent silence to the sounds of beaten stone drums--
music for my deaf ears.