Panjoyah Poems
Hell Comes Home To Roost

My head has become an airport.
    Where wisdom and fire should be,
There are now air traffic controllers...
    And these ain't no holy rollers
All touch down landings and whispered entropy.

Every day I burn it all down
    Send 'em all home and claim my space
Then it's all quiet and round.
    But suspicious is my sleepy little town,
And before I know it,
    They're back in my face.

He on High says "feel with it, deal with it,
    Get down into it, and notice the shit
You haven't dared to care about -
    Well, yeah, you can boot 'em all out
But some of those landing crew is you -
    And when "they" beat the tarmac,
Ooze ennui and attack,
    It's to alert you to the fact
That you're the pilot on this rendezvous.
    And the rescue team awaits command
Else dreams are lost in shifting sand
    Where downtime groundtime gets co-opted
By idle hands and devil's work."

My Navigator's special perk
    Is to lend His Eyes and Mighty Hand
And Her Response and Loving Heart
    that I might safely fly my plane,
Transport passengers from the dark,
    And log some frequent flyer miles,
Arriving home thru blinding rain,
    Then turn my airport to a park
Of flowers, grass and dancing creatures.

No more gate crash horror features
    Friends I know won't trash the place
When all is me that I can see
    I'll dare to look at all there be
Inside and outside of me.
    We'll all live in some rural scene
Without the roar of engines o'er
    My head; instead, the air
Will teem with purple birds of flight
    Where daytimes kiss indigo night.
All weary, beaten travellers home
    All safe around the firelight.

copyright 1997-2002 Panjoyah

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