A KISS #4

“Let’s not speak falsely now
the hour is getting late.”
(Song/poem ‘Along The Watch Tower’, written and sung
by Bob Dylan. But in this case think/imagine this song
sung/played by Jimi Hendrix, the Live Version)

“Excuse me while I kiss the sky”
-Jimi Hendrix, ‘Purple Haze’

This is not a romantic poem
of lips rocking the boulevard
of heart beats
or shooting stars
flung across the universe;
or a game of hide and seek
played in your back yard.
Nor is it the insane request
we often have of death,
to tempt us with its wish,
its kiss
and its dark, dark abyss.
It is after all just a mutherfuking kiss.

Perhaps it isn’t poetry at all,
it isn’t very pretty
since it has no smooth, jazzy rhyme
nor inner psycho-pathetic beat
or a nice 6/8 line.
Oh but, that syncopated heat
found in the crumbling tenement halls
in the underground of life
where “decent” people dare not go
yet where common folk love to dream
of life without seams,
where hope grows
and the sun shines its solar beams
amidst shadows.

No,
this poem is about revolution
and its sweet kiss of liberation
found dwelling mostly in the hearts
of those who have nothing to lose;
those lost souls on which life revolves
in the callouses on their hands
and yet who’s lips shout out symphonies
and taste of honeysuckle sweetness
smelling aromas of bluebells
found drifting in mountain wind
and comes alive in an earth shivering kiss.

No,
this poem is not about lies or myths
but about the silence
floating in human desire
that finds expression in color flavored air
splashing explosively across this page
liberating all humanity in unfettered flair
as your fingers roan through my hair
and you say softly:
“Excuse me as I eat this purple haze.
Excuse me as I turn the page
on a damaged earth.
Oh and yes,
excuse me while I kiss the sky.”