I am the electric sun, beating on my cyanide drum.
Putting the world in drastic sleep of dreams, where
we dance on the elevated hill, chanting songs
of the delicate anger and Joy

Feast your eyes on me my saint, for I,
the electric sun, praise everyone! I worry
and creep the eye of Neptune, I sit in my
slim bodied chair, watching the race
of the glorious flower child. She
flies away in the burst of the symbolic light.

I can be your sun king Lion, i have virtue and
I’m always hunting for my prey of mechanical power.
I just look into my blinding mirror, and see my glazed
eyes. My grey ***** chin hair growing into a pathway
for death.

Gasping, i am now one of the powerless,
beating my elder drum, chanting to the saints
of Petersburg. Laughing away while rushing
through that last breath.

I became weak. Who killed wisdom, when all he wanted
was for righteousness to make love to power, so they could
have a child called reality. Now our halcyon sun king can rest
with sympathy, joining with its true paradise.

2009