Through the ongoing sea,
Belfast — explosion,
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day.
Saxophone with morphine,
Angels on your temples,
The warm soft sleep of the Soul,
A chemical form of meditation.
Rusty, black, swinging gates,
— Now soft light,
beneath a tree with a cool feathered breeze of 70 degrees,
rolling another joint,
—- SMOKE THAT BONE…..
Roll Roll Roll your Bone gently with no seeds, MARY MARY MARY JANE we sing,
We sing we sing we sing with glee,
in the liters flame we see,
and gently call her name,
no shame attained as wind through
branches of a tree,
Merrily Merrily scattering…
Mary Mary’s ash to ashes
in the gentle dancing breeze.
— Butcher cutting up chicken,
Packin’ ’em up and wrappin’ ’em up
in cellophane.
The Workin’ Man, his broken teeth,
and broken speech,
Let it spill into the Democratic Courtyard,
Egalitarianism,
The Pillars of Truth unmoved.
I want to burn the incense like the ancient Jewish priests.
— For what is Man…
without his rituals .
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