holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, holy!
all existence, connection, and touch,
the tongue, the flower, the flowing waters,
all places, change and being,
each an angel masquerading in time.
the salty cold wet of the east river
the faked in black eye of an aging skaterboy,
dark alleyways, pulquerias, mariachis for hire,
everyone stacked in the back of a van,
barefoot, sneaking in by a south beach backdoor.
an artist crawling by candlelight,
a chord growled from darkness,
a prisoner underground waiting to emerge,
old woman in the elevator asking "do you go down?"
the year of bleeding profusely, of sacred revelations and betrayals.
chaos, liquid form and structure,
dirty dancing with the girls at a gay club,
stories told, retold, and changed along the way,
holy Robert, holy Michael, holy Val, holy Mary, holy Thor,
sing along and change the words.
playing in the night,
eating, drinking, smokey hookahs, secret recipes,
from this night on we are the party,
the sacred intensity of Riley's ink,
backyard yurts and quiet lonely nights.
diving into ice cold pools and shivering
nothing but stars and a moon crossing the sky
the beauty and affliction of John's line,
one long live serenade of truth,
singing along to such glorious insanity, the only way.