Voice of the Bamboo Grove

And milk-white and hungry as the moon
The girls of morning laugh.
And milk-white and mist-shrouded fall.
And the mountain trembles like a buttock.

“The rangers are lurking, seething with hatred
For the holdouts,” sez Baretta our watch-out.
“Fuck them!” sez I. “Let’s not generate that reality-
Let’s fuck while Rome burns!”

And Rome burns like a traffic flare on PCH.
And Babylon stands naked straddling the City of Angels.
She is thirsty for hippie-blood, ours.
Every minute is a diamond, hours are tiaras.

Like a beautiful woman dying of cancer
Our village counts the days,
Each a gift of infinite pleasure.
Is anything sweeter than another empty day?

And Love has no value but is value, not a means to
measure;
A community is bound together by that stuff.
And every tree and chimney, a pin for placement of this
web of love.
And every heart, a spider.

Filed under: Poems, Random crap on July 20th, 2003