gypsy sands
Posted: July 4th, 2009, 9:17 pm
these gypsy sands been blowing down days
never seen the other side on the moon
washing in gorges painted layers flash-rains
artist hobo lived right on the edge of Death
valley and the forbidden-zone
garden of traders junk and alien sculpture
whispering in the breeze that shines the cats-eyes
marbles put in the heads of snaking cactus branches
reaching for the Egyptian skies that passed here long
eons through baths of star-showers that use to
signal from the crags of outer space,
now the thirsty stories written in the gypsy sand
have to find their way with the roadrunner marks
and the sidewinders tell their own versions
on lunar-like dust so fine mirrors a lone vulture
the prospector drifter bum once panned for glitter-gold
his tells were as old as the chocolate hills and licorice
gullies that sank into the earth's dark belly and found
a treasure of rut-gut fire water and cheap-angel perfume
but they sounded young in the campfire cracks up the willy
and nilly- sparks that traveled up the stark air-vectors snap
through the stratosphere, his antique crusty words wafted
up in paroxysms of paradox and plane coyote crafty glee
wandering the air-veins resting on carnival-glass pink dusk
pointing roads to a horizon, just moves endless dimension
looking down over lingering ley-lines and tracks of rolling
rocks, down the geomancy of fancy free talk and Apache-
tear sign language, how wanderers from lost ages struck
a happy medium with ghost town gossip and the native
tongues that wove patterns on the desert floor for those
who have passed in gnarly-twisty trails of lava and luck
never seen the other side on the moon
washing in gorges painted layers flash-rains
artist hobo lived right on the edge of Death
valley and the forbidden-zone
garden of traders junk and alien sculpture
whispering in the breeze that shines the cats-eyes
marbles put in the heads of snaking cactus branches
reaching for the Egyptian skies that passed here long
eons through baths of star-showers that use to
signal from the crags of outer space,
now the thirsty stories written in the gypsy sand
have to find their way with the roadrunner marks
and the sidewinders tell their own versions
on lunar-like dust so fine mirrors a lone vulture
the prospector drifter bum once panned for glitter-gold
his tells were as old as the chocolate hills and licorice
gullies that sank into the earth's dark belly and found
a treasure of rut-gut fire water and cheap-angel perfume
but they sounded young in the campfire cracks up the willy
and nilly- sparks that traveled up the stark air-vectors snap
through the stratosphere, his antique crusty words wafted
up in paroxysms of paradox and plane coyote crafty glee
wandering the air-veins resting on carnival-glass pink dusk
pointing roads to a horizon, just moves endless dimension
looking down over lingering ley-lines and tracks of rolling
rocks, down the geomancy of fancy free talk and Apache-
tear sign language, how wanderers from lost ages struck
a happy medium with ghost town gossip and the native
tongues that wove patterns on the desert floor for those
who have passed in gnarly-twisty trails of lava and luck
