The Woman On The Wall,

The Woman On The Wall

The way she looked at me seemed to suggest

That everything I'd come

To know about myself

May be incomprehensibly wrong

And hinted at the possibility of another reality altogether

There was nothing else to do but sit down and listen

The museum was closed and I was tip-toeing on a tight rope

As if the things I could see and touch were

only a sparkle in the eye of something much larger

A note played from the organ and the sun set

Who told Marie Denise to break the world?

And when she did so

Why did she choose to break it so perfectly?

There are two types of art

The first is that which causes one to see reality differently

The other gently tears through reality

Pevealing a divine ocean of wonder

Previously hidden from sight

This was the second kind

I sat cross legged like a monk

I never saw her again

And what to do with this memory?

Store it next to all the insignificant ones in my mind

like the times a bird shat on my striped shirt in Stockholm?

That doesn't seem appropriate at all

I'm a Dylan fan

I took mushrooms by myself on a Sunday for the second time

That was October and now it's January

It's winter in some places, summer in others

I can't tell you what I saw that day in the museum

I can only tell you I love you

Give that whatever meaning you wish

Because the swan doesn't beg for

attention and the sun doesn't shine to be seen

It's all in the way it fits

How could I go back to LA now?

Everything was different and that night I

ate too much at the deli and couldn't sleep

I had seen too much

It made no sense like a rollercoaster in the winter time

What more can I give you?

Give me peace, give me freedom, give me love

Good Lord, give me love