Things come back to me

like shapes in the water

alphabets of alien lands

lost to space

Joni Mitchell's Blue

played in my second car

now it plays me like a harp

wherever I was driving

those people and places are gone

dissolved in the clouds above

and so am I

to become the thought of lightning

and the light shining

on tracks in the mud

to become the red man

at the heart of the sun

stripped of all earthly ritual

hurled beyond repetitive procession

to the stream of the galactic converse

to the vortex of converging blood

joined but not bound by time

a snake above the gas of the rivers

slithering on demonic air

to the stairs of heaven

scenes molded by William Blake

scores bending in my DNA

Joni's fingernails are dirty

William is fucking his wife

on the shore of some great ocean

never seen by man

skeletons are alive

pulsing attics of sensitive rubber

ride their metallic houses

with wet cardboard mouths

history is broken

on the walls of a programmed fate

but the wings and the brain

of the upper air are separated

some sinew escapes in pain

to be born again from the second death

paint dries on the doors

of a vast laundromat

I am drying all the underwear

of my ex girlfriends

I am a fluorescent strobe

I am alone in time

and after time

these squares of floor are only floating parameters

somebody checks the ice

somebody writes the movements

of the meters but not me

this time I'm gone like an astral antenna

but here is no place to be gone

and swans peck at the putty of my flesh

for my junkyard flame

and the sparks of my descending name

the pilot of hell's craft at last

the act is a luminous map

these are my eternal games I'm

Mister President Janitor and you're

my valley of luxurious screams.