in the morning giants spring
and the cupboards make thunder.
steam rises from cocoa cups
while sky overcast materializes
a butter spread over dawn---
yawning, we bring out blankets.
western voodoo princess,
rum soaked divinity shining,
with painted coterie mid-spin,
keeping time whistling jigs,
there with almighty Nikon kin,
fully charged and focusing
our fate cookies outsell
fortune cookies everyday,
All---is a matter of what we say.
ya ya yapping, our ha! must happen,
and tempest lightning strikes the bow
while living forests growl.
the center is always on move,
everyone here knows how near they are,
the chosen place we might choose,
not democratic, almost automatic,
invigorates our blood tubes
expressing ancient attitude.
the governor of now has no care,
is walking and talking to the air,
in a meanwhile dancing, eyes closed.
his omniscient level grows where
later his governor clothes
disappear, not gone but passed on.
stark bare before naked mystic's eye,
bones still rattled by carribean thunder,
draw the wands of the hermit card
and enjoy a smoke in the palm kitchen.
we're retired on the witch's island,
where fallacy is flogged by masters.