The Ghost Song

shake dreams from your hair, my pretty child, my sweet one
choose the day, and choose the sign of your day,
the day's divinity, first thing you see
a vast radiant beach and cool jewelled moon
couples naked race down by its quiet side
and we laugh like soft, mad children,
smugged in the woolly cotton brains of infancy
the music and voices with all around us
choose, they croon, the ancient ones, the time has come again
choose now, they croon, beneath the moon, beside an ancient lake
enter again the sweet forest
enter the hot dream, come with us
everything is broken up and dances
indian scattered on dawn's highway bleeding
ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshelled mind
we have assembled inside this ancient and insane theatre
to propagate our lust for life and flee the swarm of wisdom's restraints
the barns are stormed, the windows kept
and only one of all the rest
can dance and save us from the divine mockery of words
music inflames temperament
oh, great creator of being
grant us one more hour
to perform our art and perfect our lives
we need great golden copulations
when a true king's murderer has been allowed to roam free
a thousand magicians arise in the land
where are the feasts we were promised?

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