coat of coin mirrors

[revolutionrabbit]

Long taken down the coffee creek
what you seek
the words, drifted from her...

like the empty whispers screamed at the storm
a floating music of shadows that tare at the sky
she touched---your wooly gray coat that you bought
at the riches-to-rags secondhand me down store
on Haight street, when love was still in the magic air
in San Francisco one rainy saint George hotel day, she
grabbed
the sleeve of your coat of a thousand stones of philosophers
so that you might listen to her sing that famous blue rain coat
song by that poet from another enchanted life
that mountain of a coat that crumples like eternities---
coat of dark's deserts of forever...of enormous endless
empty amusement parks, that we once walked in dusk of
faded hallucinations of laughing writing of the graffiti walls
bleeding the stories of children lost but not found--that sound
coming down the arcades of howling drunken criers of calls
coat of bitter dregs, grim hangings of prophecy
when the sun breaks through, the coat opens
wide, to reveal whats inside, words like the night
like curtains sweeping aside, the rose moon
the old damn coat of of stolen theaters-of-golden
torchlight of tears, dropping off the ceiling
of the floor of the mysterious painted smoke
ruins of your secret poem tucked in the torn pocket
where the birds are hidden with the paper flowers
coat of wormholes, deep space written on the skin
underworlds of a coat, the words that drifted from her lips
that are concealed in deep pockets in the fiend coat
coat of revolutions, handed down from coat to heavy coat
your coat of books that have never been read by reason's
raven
your great coat of sunken mirrors in the ocean of honey
your creepy coat of haunted manuscripts
stuffed in the recesses of the folded imagination-coat-of-fingers
thrust way down in the bottom of threadbare nowhere but here
or there, that you should dare to wonder at such ancient dreams
that you wore to the gate of rainbows--
where they wait at the crossroads of divine clowns in coats of ghosts
of new years past, that this grave coat of clouds should last
your terribly shabby coat of forbidden fogs, lost black dogs of child's
hood, oh that you would someday do the nasty hasty thing-in-it-self
that you drag on like god's famous cigarette
and blow out plumes of confessions, oldest professions, dead ends-
destinations, through the mist of history, that the coat keeps telling
dragon of white, vapor of dawn's purple coat
thrown across the glittering gutter of her-stepping-across-time
coat of roads opening pages of rivers of silent uttered kiss of
coat of the last passing of source breath between never, never

coat of poems ages ago in the cafe on the arcane avenue
of shifting realities down the end of the end of thee world