Temple Alucinante

Far from the
restless boom box blare
jazz blue scat
city lights and guitars on fire

miles from the urban smell
of opulent people, pierced
armpits bulldog buildings
pressed together in a dead-heat

many asphalt moons from
quaint village cafes
Yankee Stadium, Central Park
Queens Boulevard and
downtown mystical bookshops

I found a clear, pure halcyon stream
hewn from stars,
trickling down from Heaven
an affluent vision of strength
gushing over the softer
translucent parts of me

gentle Yogi yodeling through
my alpine heart
lets sail upstream to the roof of your
opal washed Zen mountain
offer lotus garlands and incense

at sunrise we kneel in the temple alucinante