Chakra #6

In your screaming ultraviolet brain The messenger of the bad moon comes down Says, "Little babe, you're in retrograde! What happened to you? When did you get so old?" In your young bride's face, You memorize her soul Like no one should have to While you know it starts snowing soon And the Series is won But you won't see the score Twisted up like wraiths In the throat of the morning The redolence of gloom In unfamiliar rooms My brother rests off the factory line In the pre-dawn fires of middle age Rituals of solipsistic doom I wish I were a faith healer Blisteringly paced, Without any warning Astral tripping slow I wonder if you know: Do vultures sing? What color is God? I've forgotten But brother, rest your blood Your wars are won