the light of a bygone afternoon
yeah, i recognise it
everything yellowish white
everything curving around itself
the writhing vegetation
the branches in the trees rub against each other
the trees are eroticised
and they touch each other's bark lewdly
nature succumbs to love
palm trees shaking and nodding
gardenias move off their faces in joy
clouds manifest human-like shapes and fuck in the sky
gently raining down
the colours all have numbers and voices
bass purple 9
contralto red 33
bees arrive precise and identical
some of the cactii are in juicy bloom
suggestive pink fleshy protrusions
how did i arrive here
through the mirror
which was soft and hazy like cotton wool
or a slight gentle resistance
jim sitting in his other world
jim with his huge blue beard
jim with the swirling changing hair
jim under some other sun, sitting, thinking
ice cold beer and mexican weed
writing some poetry in his book
'we are flames' morrison writes
'and we burn eternally inside cold white cages'
the system with it's spears
girls come and stay intent on sleep
girls from nevada and utah and sword
little honey melts in my car
i pull up outside the blue sky motel
her luggage with snake gun
the cops drift by in their movie turn dream
tasting mum's apple pie and bomb alaska
later in the pool in the cool night
as she sinks almost lifeless
sharks circle with one thousand ideas
her fingers touch their weeping eyes as they devour her
'softly monsters' she seems to say
as i turn the key in the door of room 13
unlocking a past
your father appears in his flannel suit
making polite conversation as i sit on the bed
watching you shower
out there l.a. pulses with sick unaffordable force
'i know you' says your father with his soft voice
'what do you think?' jimbo asks me
as i read over his shoulder in the garden
and his technicolor hair swirls a day-glo vortex
'yeah, it's great i guess' i hear myself say
adding some lilac to his hair
that flows away like a rippling wave
under the eddys and currents of his wild hippy poet hair
the air charges in full of purple and orange light
electricity crackles and discharges
the garden is in a frenzy
the clouds turn big and black as they rut above
thunderclaps
jim sits there
his hair blowing wildly
his black jacket with the collar flap
his black t-shirt against his pale skin
he turns and stares at the rain and wind
and he looks like a wild elvis
or elijah
i try to freeze the picture
and the mirror cracks deep
shards of sky with blood, blue and red
no reflection