| It fell from midnight skies |
| It drummed on the galvanized |
| In the washroom, women tracked the rain |
| Up to the make-up mirror |
| Liquid soap and grass |
| And Jungle Gardenia crash |
| On Pine-Sol and beer … |
| It’s stifling in here … |
| I’ve got to get some air … |
| I’m going outside to get some air |
| Back in my hometown |
| They would have cleared the floor |
| Just to watch the rain come down! |
| They’re such sky oriented people-- |
| Geared to changing weather … |
| I’m floating off in time |
| I’m floating off |
| I’m floating off in time |
| When I was three feet tall |
| And wide eyed open to it all |
| With their tasseled teams they came |
| To McGee’s General Store |
| All in their beaded leathers |
| I would tie on colored feathers |
| And I’d beat the drum like war … |
| I would beat the drum like war |
| I’d beat the drum |
| I’d beat the drum like war |
| But when the church got through |
| They traded their beads for bottles |
| Smashed--on Railway Avenue |
| And they cut off their braids |
| And lost some link with nature |
| I’m floating into dreams |
| I’m floating off |
| I’m floating into my dreams |
| I dream paprika plains |
| Vast and bleak and God forsaken |
| Paprika plains |
| And a turquoise river snaking |
| (Where crows gaze--vigilant on wires |
| Where cattle graze the grasses |
| Far from the digits of business hours |
| The moon clock wanes and waxes-- |
| But here all time is stripped away |
| Nowhere on these plains |
| Is a sprout or an egg in evidence |
| To measure loss or gain … |
| Only a little Indian band |
| Come down from some windy mesa |
| No women to make them food and child |
| No expressions on their faces |
| I’m low in a helicopter |
| And the wind from whirling blades |
| Flaps their woven blankets |
| And flags their raven braids |
| How came they to this emptiness? |
| How came they to this dream? |
| How came I to this view |
| From a flying machine |
| Of earth and air and water |
| And a band of Indian men |
| Without herds or flocks or crops |
| Or families or fires to tend? |
| Like a phoenix up from ashes now |
| A blanket figure springs |
| With a fist raised up to turquoise skies |
| Like liberty |
| And at the point of vanishing |
| Where the sky and the earth meet |
| A bomb blooms |
| Deadly mushroom |
| White |
| Gold |
| Heat |
| Like a phoenix up from ashes |
| Up from violent mysteries |
| And growing 'till the giant blast |
| Is to it like a golfer’s tee |
| there comes a child’s beach ball |
| And memory takes me back |
| to the beach to toss it up |
| to the garage to get it patched |
| A pink and yellow beach ball |
| Rolling |
| Grand |
| Detached |
| Turning the blues and greens of earth |
| From space probe photographs |
| I float out of the hovercraft |
| Naked as infancy |
| And weightless |
| And drifting |
| Horizontally |
| Like a filing to a magnet |
| Like the long descent of rain |
| I am drawn |
| I fall against the ball |
| And lose paprika plains |
| I suckle at my mother’s breast |
| I embrace my mother earth |
| I remember perforated blinds |
| Over the crib of my birth |
| And just as Eve succumbed |
| To reckless curiosity |
| I take my sharpest fingernail |
| And slash the globe to see |
| Below me-- |
| Vast Paprika plains |
| And the snake the river traces |
| And a little band of Indian men |
| With no expressions on their faces.) |
| The rain retreats |
| Like troops to fall on other fields and streets |
| Meanwhile they’re sweet talking and name calling |
| And brawling on the fringes of the floor |
| I spot you through the smoke |
| With your eyes on fire |
| From J&B and coke |
| As I’m coming through the door |
| I’m coming back |
| I’m coming back for more! |
| The band plugs in again |
| You see that mirrored ball begin to sputter lights |
| And spin |
| Dizzy on the dancers |
| Geared to changing rhythms |
| No matter what you do |
| I’m floating back |
| I’m floating back to you! |