There are blue fields to love
And red oceans
     Of course
Plus black rain on May Day

But it’s always been
     At least for me
The sheer genius of flannel clouds
That knocks me for a push-pull

Or two or seven loops
Like a child’s long shout out
To our morning goddess
After they’ve had their swim

Their cereal their prize-winning song
After they’ve frozen their dreams
     For the image-zoos
          The butterbread-museums

The psychic kaleidoscopes of yore
And I know what you’re thinking

That all this is passé
So old-melted hat

So rolled-up thunder-eyed
Yes yes this is true
This is just a was once removed
But I ask you sweet madam

Isn’t this was a better land
A better plated sojourn
Than our pubs can serve last week?
Aren’t the old skies more lovely

Than geo-propped dust-ups
Above us last noon
Last midnight?

I’ll take the old ways
Ten out of eight or six rolls
I’ll take the heretic blossoms
Home on Tuesdays at Five

Nunca Jamas!!