Have you seen the smaller man!?
he sits by the river
and sings ballads about lysergics and grass
his voice,
it carries as though the misty valley
echoes and cries in response!.
Dark eyed and long-haired,
he sits on a wooden stool
which he built himself for the illusions
that appear from the misty banks
that intertwine and sing his words
back to him in tonal and complete
harmony!.
His mind is his studio,
his hands his instruments, upon which
he pours notes onto great sheets
of canvas!.
He dwells in London, and lives off of
peyote and wine,
so the bards say!.
He writes novels and short poems
about the wheels in his mind,
and how a wrench was thrown into it all
by his treacherous mind,
which was overthrown and split apart
by greater mind opening devices!.
An outcast, he sits now in the early
morning hours,
and sun is rising,
a smile flickers upon his upturned face,
and crazy-eyed, he draws from his
jacket a flute,
and plays to the Sun as it rises
a true piperWww@QuestionHome@Com