River of the Air

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.

Strangely absent 

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--

present instead

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

of rebellion,

of liberty,

of youth,

of love.

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.

Glenn Buttkus

August 2012

Posted over on dVerse Poets

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