Another Stop In The Road

Falling asleep in my crimson bed / The President’s Lady is holding my head / And down below, peeking from the covers, my toes / By nymphs from the forest rubbed to my knees / I am reclining.

Watching the tops of trees / Kicking their feet under blankets of heaven; I see them humming / And the grass / To me, is the green feather / Of eagles intertwined / To me, is the skin of our nation in brotherhood.

Closing my eyes and retreating to mind / I sip wine with Whitman.

Womb of our subconscious / The unconscious mon.

A man insane, rending his clothes / Jumps into the dark road / Two hours past midnight

He sees – The Lunatic watches / A woman of the night dressed / Pouring red wine into the ends / Of her silver hair.

To this man / She was built / How he remembered the past.

And getting closer to touch / He witnessed her skin was budding grass.


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