Saturday, November 16, 2024

Horse With No Name

Horse With No Name
© Surazeus
2024 11 16

The green sign above the highway of hope 
tells me that Heaven is one thousand miles 
if I keep going straight across the desert, 
so I tap the steering wheel with my hands 
as I race along across waste land of desire 
while I sing about the horse with no name. 

Each rock song blaring on the radio 
depicting life in California hills 
encourages me with mad hope of the fool 
that I made the right choice for mental health 
to escape thief-haunted Manhattan maze 
and search for true peace in the Promised Land. 

Arriving in time for summer of love, 
I drive the rolling hills of San Francisco 
where hippies from small towns of New England 
dance in the streets with flowers in their hair 
while bards that look like Jesus with god eyes 
play guitar and sing about peace on Earth. 

Aging bank clerk in my rumpled gray suit, 
divorced from daughter of the factory owner, 
with three children attending private schools, 
I walk among the hippies with long hair 
to feel the groovy thing now going on, 
and wander all night on the beach till dawn. 

Exchanging uptight corporate uniform 
for blue jeans and rainbow tie-died tee-shirt, 
I join kids sitting in circles on grass 
who smoke weed while hip Jesus plays guitar, 
and listen to them talk about world peace 
by stopping the cruel war in Vietnam. 

Young girl with eyes blue as the morning sea 
places small tab with a skull on my tongue 
so I sway with the music till I feel 
ocean tides surging in crystalline words 
through fractal atoms in sponge of my brain 
as I become owl on my childhood farm. 

I make small puppet of my body dance 
till he cuts my strings and his nose grows long 
when he becomes viking wolf with sharp axe 
who hacks down forests to build steel-glass towers 
though I am turtle crawling among flowers 
on sacred quest to find the Holy Grail. 

I tell everyone the Earth is my brain 
so the young woman with ten thousand eyes 
gives me glass of orange juice from dragon blood 
which I drink as my soul beams from the stars 
and I swirl down inside my fragile body, 
then eat omelettes at the Pork Store Cafe. 


1 comment:

  1. Orpheus smoking weed on the grass in the Golden Gate Park tries to explain his acid trip to the journalist from Time Magazine who is writing an article about hippies.

    ReplyDelete