"Hereworld"

she was stretched out there
leaves pattern
on dirt bed
leaving blueprints
of laters, maybes
in the eyes of others
mandalas
to the eyes of demons
fine words for
writers
sweet melodies
for songsmiths

in the back room she roamed w/ the tides
of moonlit camouflage
where safe I stayed observing
nothing boring happening
clouds exploding
filling see-through balloons

love was the word
tears fell over
cheap orchestral Beatles' renditions
plastic cacti
gardener's flashes of a
wife, her magazines, used books
black & white photos Mike made once
w/ his one of a kind
see-through camera
a monster
of be-in
drenched
assertive
raptures

it is now time for the pattern
to reveal
its proud complexity
of a death trap
its wish of peace
& leave the hereworld alone

for the best we can do
is the least we can
do
& words
read better
potted