door to summer

the sounds of yesterdays

the moorings of the mornings

yes yachts on smooth summer sea sailing in sunset

strip away the night and yet this fragile feminine day

down by the shore they singing all the more

oh sweet jesus oh how i love you so

the sins mount up in the penthouse

the rubbish accumulates in alleys of bygone months

the beach boys singing in that old abandoned beach house

mouths empty of song possible worlds gone wrong

the idyllist is a (c)hanged man

the idyllist in a valiant transistor radio oh it should have been that way

wim o weh oh wim o weh

the lion sleeps tonight

from a jack to a king

my friend the witchdoctor

in the jungle the mighty jungle

river jordan is chilly and wild

and transvaal with servants and picnics

and rhodesian scholars in travestied gowns

the idyllist intervenes suddenly

in broken tones of electric guitar he strums out a C

the idyllist reaches back in  to his mind

nazarene in nairobi

of course he was says someone in another room

you mean alabama says someone else

someone occluded

a corridor of flowers

a procession of daughters

still…

will my spirit rise above this plain…..?