Camp Albert Pike

it always rains in Arkansas
and sometimes makes us flee
its so freshly pure and clean
it makes us all feel free. . .
testaments and arguments
of things that we must do
are things we leave behind us
in the distant human zoo. . .
the unknown bassist strums his chords
in gurgled liquid tones
endless stones roll past him
emitting chilling groans. . .
woodsmoke on the river face
rampant thoughts fly wafting. . .
they move away by laidback vibes
their touch is smooth and softing. . .
campfire shadows loom macabre
where giant figures stride
the brilliant stars hurtle o'er
upon their cosmic ride. . .

1981