Magic man of monophonic root
wreak havoc on the planets of
the yester-years I never saw.
‘Til this very morning, I wake.
I listen to the thirst and fear
and funk of a trembling flower.
Cocaine and pain is hard to
swallow. Breathe, awkwardly
through stars of the regular.
Your tears are too cool to cry.
They would dry up and crust
under a spotlight hotter than Mars.
But you cry to me, in the midst
of an hour, minute or day. Now
a momentous speck of stardust.