a backyard

come play in the rain with me…amongst sitting Buddha’s and lushness in a summer’s eve…come…come…

while bongos and congas are beaten by tribal women in search of madmen under rocks and sand…behind willows and juniper bushes…please come…please…

and dances are choreographed to rhythms of water from magical clouds…sent from a goddess whose wishes are good…only good…she never conjured evil…never…

i watch this soulful feast from within..a part of something bigger…allowed freedom to take…promising to give back…all has been paid for long ago…thank you…

Whitman played in the rain…and Ginsberg…Kerouac…Williams…Patti Smith…soaked to the bone and not blue but alive…alive…awaiting the next ritual…we all are…

come play in the rain with me…amongst the sitting Buddha’s and the lushness of a summer’s eve…come…come…

Published by: dmseay

The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

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