Joint sessions

 
 
 
Joint sessions
In a hovel-hole basement sanctum.
We keep the faith and
Drop-in
Turn-on
Tune-out.
 
And it was told . . .
How the everlasting presence
still isn’t very old.
How the Diamond got her ring
How the matchgirl got her king
How we all got everything
And how everything got sold.
 
Reeds bending in the wind.
A haunting sentimental song.
Breeze saunters by.
The neon letters “PEACE” light up the air.
 
A poem in pictures and sound.
Rather like a spell, you know.
Those dawning tendrils
sneaking through my windowshade.
But it’s much too early to be rising.
So I’ll dally in enchanted romance
without recalling
I’ve no one to wake to
beyond the dawn.
 
Reaching to the stars,
tarry in eternity:
This is all.
 
Soldiers marching in a desert,
remember not their daily cares.
Remember only endless marching.
Caught suspended, unawares.
The crackling fire.
The sweet cascading smoke.
Light another match and start anew.
As pinwheels and starbursts float
through brilliant night.
And visions of all our wanderings gently
drift in liquid air.
.
.
.
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