I Like The Image Of The Old

The Hero Surviving His Own Murder, His Own Suicide, His Own Addiction, Surviving His Own Disappearance From The Scene

Who Dreamt And Made Incarnate Gaps In Time & Space Through Images Juxtaposed, And Trapped The Archangel Of The Soul Between 2 Visual Images And Joined The Elemental Verbs And Set The Noun And Dash Of Consciousness Together Jumping With Sensation Of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus To Recreate The Syntax And Measure Of Poor Human Prose And Stand Before You Speechless And Intelligent And Shaking With Shame

That's What The Shaman Said. He Didn't Know What He Was Up Against. He Didn't Expect The Strength And Weight And Evil Intensity Of This Spirit, This "entity," As He Called It. The Same Way The Priest In An Exorcism Has To Take On The Spirit.

I Saw The Best Minds Of My Generation Who Threw Their Watches Off The Roof To Cast Their Ballot For Eternity Outside Of Time, & Alarm Clocks Fell On Their Heads Every Day For The Next Decade.

You Can't Escape The Past In Paris, And Yet What's So Wonderful About It Is That The Past And Present Intermingle So Intangibly That It Doesn't Seem To Burden.