* * * * * * *
1)
Artists are windows.
Governments; windowpanes.
Personalities find collisions
in space.
2)
Thirsty.
The little voice
turns into the Speaker of the House.
Hot Night. The Room
is white in the lamps and fan.
The body is hot. I feel Spanish-
I've killed five mosquitoes.
Being a Scotch-Irish Californian
from the S.F. bay area a hundred
years after the gold rush, California
still attracts the world of freedom
& innovation.
The Scotch-Irish is rebellious
and gazing over city/coast seeking
language of creation and law.
The Italian in me listens
to the celestial opera of dazzling whitewashed
temples and perfumed thighs-.
The Chinese of me hangs the herbs
in the city of centuries and flows from the
universe of family.
The Native American beats the sacred
drum the old song of mountains and rivers,
'The Tears of the Gods.'
The Russian trades and drinks.
The French in me gardening the landscape with glasses
of red cabernet of any special drained oak
ocean kissed valley-
The Afro-Shade in me eats and tells the ancient bone
stories breaking chains into a white
House of Dignity.
The Summer Solstice Jazz
skates blues and gold across the sky-
Angels for breakfast. Batman blues and
5th element of love for the fullmoon night.
The Japanese in me sells the flowers
from the businesses of the hills and uses
them in a play for all Noh occasions-
The Witch in me dances in the
Spell of Creation and season
breathing in earth and whirling heaven.
Here's a barbed-cattle-fence
rolled up for the
urban track centipede. Visualize Unborn
Traffic Jammes. The deer parade down the
street, eating prized roses. Have
a drink.
* * * * * * *
(c)1997 John C. Morrison
KARMA WHEELS SPINNING - John C. Morrison