the two-tongued cat smiles, leans backward
his sly lips and cool tongue navigate his bearded face,
taking another hit of his marijuana cigarette the smell of saccharine honeysuckles hung low around our heads, like a cool Eden afternoon.
sneaky pete sat on the edge of the water,
my god, how he looked like Christ when he walked out of the water,
the sun beating down on yr naked chest.
speaking like Muhammad, sitting like Buddha, and looking like Christ, you called out my name.
all the celestial beings smiled on yr face.
i laid my head down and floated down the Tully,
floating down the river, i saw John the Baptist’s head in the water,
drank the wine that comes from yr breasts.
mother smiled on us, as we drank beer and loafed with our souls.
our real mothers were at home sewing,
our fathers (talking only of war) sat on leather sofas.
meanwhile, sneaky pete was talking of Colorado, California, and soon ol’ Canady!
the ancient breathing of the trees made yr hair illuminated.
the honeysuckle tree drooping and drunkenly swaying above our heads while we spoke only of angels and of beautiful women who we had seen,
sneaky pete, old bones Chuck, and the cat of yester-years, mothers, fathers,
who speak like i, and sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts, great grandfather time,
implore my soul, drink from the mouth of cradled waters,
hold yr tongue when you speak of absolutions
breathe in the honeysuckle air, hold onto it. for it will not last!
hang onto my twisted body, uncurled now and waiting for you,
stand naked on roof top bars, alleyways, and beds,
implore one and others naked souls,
speak like Muhammad, the great prophet,
sit like Buddha, waiting for Nirvana,
and look like Christ, praying in Gethsemene.