Morrison (Dry Water)

The velvet fur of religion
The polish of knife handle and coin
The universe of organic gears
Or microscope mechanical
Embryo metal doll
The night is a steel machine
Grinding its slow stained wheels
The brain is filled with clocks and drills
And water down drains
Knife handle thick blood
Like the coin and cloth
They rub and the skin they love
To touch
The graveyard, the tombstone
The gloom stone and runestone
The sand & the moon mating
Deep in the Western night
Waiting for the escape
Of one of our gang
The hangman's noose is a
Silver sluice bait
Come on man
Your meat is hanging
On the wing of the raven
Man's bird poet's soul
The thin rustle of weeds
The voice comes from faraway
Inside awaiting its birth
In a cool room on tendril bone
The insane free chummy cackle
Of infants in a ballroom of a
Family of friends around
A table laden with feast-food
Soft guilty female laughter
People assemble to establish
Armies and find their foe
And fight
Clustered in watchful terror
By vine growth, the hollow bush
Dry cancerous wells
We awoke before dawn, slipped
Into the canyon
Noon schoolyard screamed
We play the lunch hour ending
Ropes balls slapped hard at
Cement sand the female land
Was bright, all swelling to degree
Most comfortless and guarding
A record noise shot out
Stunned the earth, the music
Had been bolted with a new sound
Run run the end of repose
An anthem has churned
The bad guys are winning
Silver shaken in the gloom
I left her
Trees waste and sway forever
Marble porch and sylvan frieze
Down on her knees
She begs the spider king to wed her
Slides into bed
He turns her over
There is a leather pouch
That's full of silver
It spills like water
She left
And took the coins I gave her