it's beautiful when the music stops
when you hear in your soul the conversation
without the cross-fed weeding lines
of idiots
in contemplation
'do you love me'
'do you think I'm cool'
'I'll drink this to excess'
'I'm a total moron'
'oh think me cool'
no
NO
'hell is other people'
satre said
and I've been stoned so long
to know that he was right -
- and deeply
- deeply -
deeply deeply incorrect
for the hell they bring
is not the punishment of demons
or the torment of hope
but the callous disregard
of unconformed conformity
in a world of liars
and so I lie here
in that place that place
- that ever was known to me -
beyond the carping voices
beyond the lovers
and the snide remarks of the fool
to watch the sky the sky
interlinking in it's passing
ever changing
ever moving
never defined
by rules of conduct
or the minimum wage of propriety
for here
for here
for there if we try it
is the freedom
of rejection
that path we know but never take
in which we all are kings
and queens
- for let us not forget the petty worries of women -
and there
for there
is that whiteness of the sun
beyond the road
beyond the lane
in that second of staring too brightly
in which we grasp blindly
like a sea-sick sailor
on a first voyage
forgetting that the ignorance lies in our youth
and in the fear of courage
and wisdom is that balance
of infallible falling beneath our dreams
when our throat has stretched beyond words
welcome
The Blue Book
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