Untitled (the most beautiful...)

the most beautiful places   on the most euphoric drugs

you can’t dislike a thing     walk through mineshafts

give speeches to the ranger     find a feather

and tickle some snakeskin     a spider on your eye

biting through your flesh   wipe it away   keep smiling

                                    and sleep it off

free your clothing    let it blow in the wind

sweet music   booming   heat  soothed by

wind winding around our skin     i could lie in the hammock

for days                                                          

when the opioids wear off   the ocean   the jungle   the desert

is still there                  saffron sun melting behind

unseen clouds    wavering tendrils   sparkle   then dissipate

the orb disappears   replaced by lunar division

appearing over the mountain               

wane and black    fade to silhouettes               

silver salt creek drips     or unseen perpetual waves only felt

a firm ground     or sinking  in the sand     what lurks

in the night  is all the wonderful     i’m quiet

                        but i know what i’m saying

lying on a beach     lying in the middle of the desert

bamboo walkway   cascading into the ocean     crabs

clinging  in the tides  to jagged rocks                         

 lying on a deserted beach     marshland     mangrove  

 take your pick                               only telling the truth

wax   to peak   and daylight    dissolves to a non-existent

dusk  and soft white daylight night     streaked  tendrils

glisten   all along the water     the salt reflects these

faraway beams     the snakes  are coiled away

the fish  waiting for a new day

miniature school airborne from small pack hunters

perhaps chased by the next size up

i watch  and i listen   and this desert doesn’t get

any smaller     the most potent drug is just getting

here     we’ve been waiting all our lives for this

score                                                               

john

taipei

4:29 p.m.

tuesday, march 5, 2002

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The shades are changing, it's true: righting yourself with my writing