the light of a byegone afternoon
yeah i recognize it
everything yellowish white
everything curving around itself
the writhing vegetation
the branches in the trees rub against each other
the trees are eroticised
and they touch each others bark lewdly
nature succumbs to love
palm trees shaking and nodding
gardenias move off their faces in joy
clouds manifest human-like shapes
and fuck in the sky
gently raining down
the colours all have numbers and voices
bass purple 9
contralto red 33
bees arrive
precise and identical
some of the cactii are in juicy bloom
suggestive pink fleshy protusions
how did i arrive here?
through the mirror
which was soft and hazy
like cotton wool
or a slight gentle resistance
jim sitting in his otherworld
jim with his huge blue beard
jim with the swirling changing hair
jim under some other sun
sitting thinking
ice cold beer and mexican weed
writing some poetry in his book
we are flames…
morrison writes
…and we burn eternally inside cold white cages
the system w/ its spears
girls come and stay intent on sleep
girls from nevada and utah and sword
little honey melts in my car
i pull up outside the blue sky motel
her luggage w/snakegun
the cops drift by in their movietone dream
tasting moms apple pie and bombe alaska
later in the pool in the Kool night
as she sinks almost lifeless
sharks circle w/ one thousand ideas
her fingers touch their weeping eyes as they devour her
softly monsters she seems to say
and as i turn the key in the door of room 13
unlocking a past
your father appears in his flannel suit
making polite conversation as
i sit on the bed watching you shower
out there …l.a..pulses with a sick unaffordable force
i know you
says your father w/ his soft voice….

what do you think? jimbo asks me
as i read over his shoulder in the garden
and his technicolor hair swirls a day-glo vortex
yeah its great i guess
i hear myself say
adding some lilac to his hair
that flows away like a rippling wave
under the eddies and currents of his wild hippy poet hair…
the air charges in full of purple and orange light
electricity crackles and discharges
the garden is in a frenzy
the clouds turn big and black as they rut above
thunderclaps
jim sits there
his hair blowing wildly
his black jacket with the collar flap
his black t shirt against his paleskin
he turns and stares at the rain and wind
and he looks like a wild elvis or elijah
i try to freeze the picture
and the mirror cracks deep
shards of the sky w/blood
blue and red
no reflection