A freewheeling poem

“I am not of this, I am not of that,
the darkness floats by like ghosts, the sun strikes down with apathetic heat.”

She screams and rolls out of the car
and lands a punch upon the chin
thunder through dark heaven folds
to crush out the man of sin.

Find a dark place
where the green ferns grow.
Search out for wonder and joy.
Laughing at the sacred things I know.

Upon the highway
upon the sea
two things that never meet
cannot joined be

maggots that writhe
upon a body dead
do not battle each other
but make busy to be fed

close your eyes
descend the stair
look at the fire
and dream of woman fair.

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