“Throw your tears with the ocean salt! Throw yourself open to hold the flowers all around you. You are of the bird, yourself a feather,” he said. I would know the fear so I don’t fear. I would know better so I didn’t; Try to feel: emptiness is a fog, through which I see a suspended chandelier which the way I see through to these words creates a crescending chandelier of flowers and fluttery feathers, blossoms falling apart, blown in the wind and laughter, descending in swirling spirals into the salty rose of blue ocean, and the tears; a different color. Doctor Sax blows a brown fart paper until he faints, red, creates a mystery, gets high from water dripping in dark alleys mysteriously laughs with earthworms gotten early, birds risen from swarms of masturbating turd flies, eaten the lurking in corners of eyes of boys playing baseball in a dusty field, empty beyond the factory at night is a mystery, cold on boy eyes with moist hoards in them, the way to earthly fields and mother to dirty hair, in the grass roots of grass, lurking in corners of empty needs for flowers and grassy fields, room to grow. Doctor Sax is a dark glove-cape swirled, fits comfortably over any dark, feels warm. The woods and fields are full of stone over the open ocean bed, the wedding tongues lick an island Sunday risen lost for three, green woods married or the God-cloud impregnators of mountain vaginas lick a highest mountain forest gnomes and magic castles organ of the love the music each glee green leaf fingers loves a note to grow on the brown mother earth. The wizard sits in the corner at his desk cluttered with books and notes, recipes and secrets and dust with a pen to write this time: “Shadows are warm gloves timid from this candle (not what I see, is light, but how I see it, through) feeling rocks green that don’t see green, but see warm dark stone, the castle on this mountain island bond the ocean all around the wind words blow into it is all a field, darkening, you, Doctor Sax. I must gather the autumn colors before they die, brighten the comfort. I must give the children flowers from the field to the air I must breathe. I must be a wizard (no other). There must be a way to hold the whole within to let it create flowers. Of course there’s a way in the castle dungeon to stand over the volcanic valley hold the gaping hell gaping down brown distance to the orange hot puss core of the earth, mother birth of the serpent, upholder of all the apples all fear the stifler serpent crawled up from the agony and the fire and the gush of worms, through the rich dung earth. I see this a dam holding oceanic tears and flowers the Atlantis bond both left and right arms of the same body together to grow the gliding song of love the nature way with the bird, the self from the sky, a bird flying together now swirling in a descending spiral after the serpent from the pit. Clutched in claws of the bird with feathers flying as laughter teasing the earth rising and love and wind in the aethereal blue away, the song gliding suspended with the blue, distance the quiet, above the tongues of ocean, air within me.” together into creates a crescending bird of feathers, flying with the serpent clutched.
June 1971