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Dead Boquets

Posted by Friar Turk , July 12, 2017 · 117 views

ode to jerry garcia where the fuck is phil lesh tickets for widespread panic
Dead Flower Boquets

The sweet scented rose
now, only remembered
its effluvium rushing to heaven
before, so that, the dry and paper

flower that remains
a signal to heaven perhaps
Hells final closing upon
the awakened masses

people so dead and exhausted
from burn-out scams
hell among the yearlings
witchcraft amidst the rushes
un-ending tours of burning tires
along the micro-dotted lanes
and hallucinogenic highways
of the longest and strangest trip
unending and further

further the river
the lilting river
trickling among the rushes
of songs sung to the river
and through the river sung
like songs sung
to unknown gods and legends

yet that this crooning once begun
be never forgotten
like legends become gods through their crooning
plucking through the endless, aimless years
and time ended, albeit unended
how else to end time, except for and through its unending

i could spin up an endless song i suppose
aiming with the clock of god in my mind
at the world and its tragic senses
attritioning beauty or jazz against the night
the chaos and the crowds
the steady noise and traffic
coughing harmful
poisoning lies
against the muse

I hate vindictive poems and songs.

I do as well.   Cheers.    Especially songs.

September 2017

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