Spread yourself smooth and white,
giving me access to your dreams –
to your myths, beliefs –
your expanded mind
and godless experiences.
Is it possible you walk among the
deceased and see the composers?
Do you touch their limp and
stroke their beats of broken hearts?
Tell me what to expect.
Show me signs in clouds.
You, yourself – so smooth and sharp.
Thinly veiled sense of the end –
wash me; the taste of dirt
touches tongues and help me
2010 Barry Comer