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Poem | “Thunder Painting”

Don’t be desireous under White Mountain.
The river’s tall feathered tail
Will blast you into the crag’s milky fountain.
Will whisk you away
To a faraway place
In the steam boat’s desert Sun,
Buried beneath a 17th century ruin.
You won’t get to stay up and play.
Each door will turn you away.
You won’t burn your fires at midnight
Or dream of the horse haired magic of twilight.
The cattle callers will stake their claim
Down your captured, straining, mustang mane.
Only for the bewildered and assertive has time begun.
So now you are forever on the run
From the father with a shot gun,
From the book that’s never done.
A story of a man who climbed a cloud
Getting passed the Giant by not making a sound.
But the danger is he may sleep on the stove or be a meal.
When there’s a castle on your head
That’s part of the deal.
If you find your way down
You’ll be the talk of the town.
Covered in Goose down
Eveywhere you go golden eggs roll around.
Rescue Mother from the debt.
Take Newton’s weight off your head.
Lift the Goddess of Sais’ silken veil.
And for the New World set sail.
Buy your Indian master whose been two places at once
Before he sells Manhattan for a buck.
Inside his pipe is a 10,000 year old pine,
Japanese Geisha girls and black Saki wine.
It don’t take science to tell us it will never die.
It’s one hundred deer skin catamarans
Sailing Chinese warriors to settle Peruvian lands.
They’ll block your walls and tear down your office
If all you can think of
Is sex with the White Buffalo Goddess.
So when you approach her, lay down your mask.
Let the blue Moon dance on the snowy fields and pass.
Let the deer’s eyes see through the men with guns
To the glistening forest and endless mountains beyond.







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