image borrowed from bing
River of the Air
“I came upon a child of God,
he was walking down the road
and I asked him,
where are you going?
And this he told me.....”
--Joni Mitchell 1969
Thunderous eruption, rain squalling,
shutter slamming, car crashing beat
with raunchy rhythms crashing through everyone
like blue ice lagoon waves washing
over the brilliant white sand
between our naked toes.
Shaggy minstrels maneuvering melodies
drawing a quivering throng of humanity
tight together at Sky River 1969;
cacophonous current without water
perched on a shimmering laser-lit Zeus stage
thrusting reverbed electric sobs
mellifluously out over the multitudes
who were talking, praying, singing, crying
about love, and loving out there
in the red dust that settled on a
many thousand-lipped smile.
Hosted by a stoned bearded Buddha
begging for a blow job, and braying:
“Yes, there is misery in this world,
but there is also the get high of happiness!
Which do you choose?
There can be freedom, equality, brotherhood;
just look around you!”
And we did,
and there was.
was that jagged junta,
the bristling laurel of pigs
usually prevalent at such joyous events;
gone even was the threat of sober steel,
that vicious arm-in-arm lock-stepped
riot shielded helmeted Hessian terror--
was a great iron train on towering tracks
that slowed while people waved
and slipped away.
Sure, there were some among us
who were spaced out, super-stoned
as drugs were vended like peanuts,
and there were some who ran naked
through the crowd, mostly ignored,
drowned out by the mighty music,
just silly naked asses dancing
off the beat while spilling their beer.
For most of us the loftiest rapture
materialized from just being
a single intimate cell
in that sublime creature
we had all become,
fucked up, freaked out, free as birds;
blended, weaved, woven, sewn inseparable
into one enlightened cosmic being,
one great throbbing entity
with a hundred thousand limbs
with ten thousand mouths
with the strength of millions
singing one common song
When the light on the earth passed on
and the sun sank into the horizon armpit
like poppy wine smearing the sky,
three giant screens behind the musicians
exploded with manufactured color,
extending the sunset long into the busy night
as we hugged, swayed, kissed, and dreamed
of a time when brotherhood would replace nationalism,
and the land would ring with freedom.
Posted over on dVerse Poets
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