Turn on. He preached,
A psychodelic mantra.
Turn off, I rejoin.
Recharge your battery.
Hear the place.
Don't skip out.
Tune in,
That's what he proclaimed,
Like a hallelujah chorus.
Tune out, I respond.
Extract the buds, and smell the flowers.
Drop out, his litany ended.
Alone, or with drop outs?
Distances and depths vary.
But his voice carried.
Drop by, I invite. Stay awhile.
Have a cup of Yorkshire Gold,
And walk in the garden,
With me.
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 9:05 AM UTC
Turn on. He preached,
A psychodelic mantra.
Turn off, I rejoin.
Recharge your battery.
Hear the place.
Don't skip out.
Tune in,
That's what he proclaimed,
Like a hallelujah chorus.
Tune out, I respond.
Extract the buds, and smell the flowers.
Drop out, his litany ended.
Alone, or with drop outs?
Distances and depths vary.
But his voice carried.
Drop by, I invite. Stay awhile.
Have a cup of Yorkshire Gold,
And walk in the garden,
With me.
Timothy Leary, 1920-1996
