One of these days I'd like to turn on, tune in and drop out.
Read some psychedelic pages from a book of the dead and come alive on a Harvard professor's trip.
Sing it loud for Leary and grin for Griggs
With a big toothy smile hiding wryly under wiry folds of golden locks,
And really mean it when I say,
"I love everyone."
Like the the gray, scraggly-haired Laguna greeter
Whose plaster statue stands like a monument for a lost and misunderstood generation
That beatniked like Ginsberg and his procession of sunshine-dropping proto-hippies
Across America's marijuana belt, howling at the moon
When it waxes full across a sky of Lucy-eyed diamonds.
I'll sing real sweet and low for sure and hold up the cross for Christ
As Hodgson did in the perfumed gig of a beached-out bungalow or
A secret hamlet in Dodge City.
Hell, maybe even shake Manson's hand like Wilson did before bailing
From the mansion to echo pet-soundish bells for the masses to toll
Across the shanty church air around Modjeska Canyon,
Bidding the leagues to transform time into space for the spirit's renewal and
Flaming like the fire of an orange sunset that rings eternal
Into the closed circuitry of a cosmic lemniscate,
Orbiting the earth while announcing love's new arrival
Like a satellite sending messages of brotherhood
To wash the brain of the world
In the great undulates of the Pacific Northwest
And rainbows too bright to be discerned.