All you have to do is to try to picture him like one of those ancient shamans, a healer that celebrates a world that from his perspective is alive and dancing with him. A world that possesses a spiritual essence and above all a world that he is chanting to the elegy of his leaving.
When I’m gone
When I’m gone
Roll my vertebrae out like dice
Let my skull be a home for the mice
Let me bleach like the bones on a beach
I’ll be hard like a pit from a peach
Now the ground has a branch
Now the hound has a ranch
The old tressel’s just junk
The Edsel is on blocks
The old said so: won’t talk
I’m a blimp that’s straining, cut’er ties
I’m a moth in training, flutter by
Huh
Leave a Reply