Thursday, February 21, 2013

Lament for Ken Kesey


 “He stole away over
crisp grass one
morning, and the old
witch did not call
him back for she had
no spell to curb the
love of roving in
man. She would not
hold back his limbs
when his heart was
gone to the woods
were dead flowers
hung on brown
stalks and the petals
turned to slime if he
fingered them for
November was come
And the frosts were
Abroad all night.”
Book of Days

Lament for Kesey

all away all away all away all
draggin 'em all away
down into down with
a scream or a sigh
a smile and a nod,
quiet or in full cry
here comes Death
draggin 'em all away

sneak around corners
up out of grates
eagles and the ants,
spiders and the cormorants,
draggin 'em all away

Damn you Death,
I piss on your shoes,
Father of Blues
get offa my land
or I'll run you through!

And who'll be there to
get you when I do?

Never could say goodbye
like it had any kind
of final rectitude,
any essential rightness.
Whatever's right, yeah?
Whatever's true -
later, not farewell.
As in, see you around.

Death is senseless
unless we just pop over
into some other place,
along with the eagles and ants,
the spiders and cormorants,
the destitute and shameless,
the brightest and best -
born to be banished
banished to be born.

One stood in the moonlight
One stood out in the crowd
One stood under star blue sky
his daydream turned up loud.

How did this come to pass?
Don't gimme no don't gimme no . . .
this tractor don't run on horseshit,
Deboree, just natural gas.

Some folk come
to stir it up
and when it's stirred
they split - simple as that.

Robert Hunter 11.10.01

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