morning comes with cotton-mouthed amoeba clouds
coming to us for our electric-spaghetti orgy of fire
we pick the flowers and hum to the drunken bushes
around our ringing rocket.
we learned of tools and women
of fire-building and glass art
of log-music and cricket symphonies
of lysergic tongues,
battered dogs
and fuzz-trees underneath dancing stars.
worlds and suns will collide tonight
regardless of our own egotistical satisfactions.
and still we try
to love hate
love the hated
and the hater
and to save the world
with shamanistic visions
orchestrated under the influence
of enchanted thought.
30 april 1993
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