In Perpetuity

Certain discovery at first light
And the last rebel is hung
They came from miles around
To witness the christening of the mandrake shrine

If you are the sort to whom the long, tall days seem little more than
A viscous blot on the copybook of an amusing little domestic truth;
If you give a particular damn whose God won the perpetual
All-night crapshoot in the backroom of the Hotel Hades;
If legions of suicide drivers sing your praises from beyond the outer wall,
Then let's kick back, have a chat, hoist a few beers
On this, the day the world ends

Or:
If you are the sort to whom awareness is
The necessary frolic
The Stated Aim,
The found wallet, bulging with expectation,
Bereft of magic plastic (and ID)
Then let's run amok, you and I,
Cop some weed
See the world
Have a ball
Then wander home to find the tents gone,
fires cold,
no forwarding address
just a poem about patience written by a child

Well ... that brings up some things I lost
in my haste to be about my father's work
Crusted and nestled in the rich red dust of liberty
Slightly sticky with remorse and guaranteed to turn your hair white, white, white;
Mother of color, womb of light
and shot with earth-tone, fading but still numerous and remindful that this once was human flesh,
this walking ghost
this odd little loser
this beggar at Heaven's door

Florida, 1986