Sep 2012
you invited us
to life’s one act play
where the bearded lady shouts to me
in her mocking spotlights
I don’t stay to listen
to what might be the truth
long ago I hid from that,
(burning bibles talking, and
prison doors locking)
yes, I fled
through the tempting doors
not yet barred
to write riddles
far from her shining stage
outside, in the cold stillness
alone
where the owl plays some game in the night
and hoots its signal of our plight
to life’s one act play
where the bearded lady shouts to me
in her mocking spotlights
I don’t stay to listen
to what might be the truth
long ago I hid from that,
(burning bibles talking, and
prison doors locking)
yes, I fled
through the tempting doors
not yet barred
to write riddles
far from her shining stage
outside, in the cold stillness
alone
where the owl plays some game in the night
and hoots its signal of our plight
This really has no title--I used "poems from the psychotic" simply because a couple of lines are from poems I wrote in the 1960s when I was 16--since I was often under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs, I entitled all of my poems from that era, "Poems from the Psychotic". Most of this was written today, but it was inspired by my own writings and the psychedelic rock poets of the 1960s
