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