In the state of Oregon
the roads of air have names of snakes
and there's a smell of music in the air
music of flowers, scent of love.
Even ravens laugh, and cry with laughter
even ravens smell of snakes
and have names of love.
Blossoms cry love and ask for more,
but it's not to come,
because the grey men creep,
and their grey hands reach
my heaven on Earth.
Kind of a reaponse to Nevada, a poem from "Un río, un amor" by Luis Cernuda. Th name of the states act as placeholders for surrealist heavens, although I have been to Oregon and Cernuda probably didn't go to Nevada