an unbeatable force

an unbeatable force survives.

it is sometimes colored by its singular doors

undressed willcall of blameless speakers,

unnamed and crept past in solitude.

we were taught

most lust after something,

then grope for a way back in

a way back out,

and all the while

cooking up demonstrations

since the beginning of their collective hibernation.

the parties irregular,

convening alone on a mountaintop,

shoeless hunters are we-

hopeless bards in need of shoeshines

to mirror these silent head reflections.

last night in a dream

my friend got reengaged to her warm breast security.

he has been divorced several times now,

trying constantly to convert gray into the multi-LSD colors he actually sees.

only one cannot change what one dismisses,

senses that blind us from what has been extracted from remote truths.

so eventually my friend grokked

and went off to build a room for himself,

to wait for inevitability to happen,

yet here he could track these visions undisturbed,

away from the drunken chorus of scribes downstairs.

“I must go this alone”, he muttered through an unlit cigarette stuck between his teeth

like candy

(and the scribes of course all nodded to testify to their empathy).

there is a singing chorus of gangsters in the alleyway out back

seeking employment, not pay.

and since they had left home,

there have not been many friendly faces to wish them harmony, unmolested,

so they resolved to lead the hobo lifestyle,

noses in tune to all the hot applepies

left cooling on alleyway windowsills.

above this house,

lights sparse a solo progression on the way to getting dueted,

for one voice is permitted at a time for any sort of mixture

forming one light.

and everyone sees it,

the gangsters unflinchingly direct their stares

to this broken brick home,

to catch a lesson,

to petition this refuge

for a portion of what gifts have come through its doors.

while they know our windows have been kicked in,

they understand the floors are rugless and clear,

and that these walls leak with hieroglyphics.

and it is from this palace we receive direction…

some are willing…

others are pacing….

one has overslept...

and it is spring…

and it has begun to snow…

have you ever been a gangster

searching for your satori mountaintop room to dream?

23 St. St. Louis, 1974