Psycodelic Epiphany.

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Frank, George and Mur. Three riders high
  beneath a wrap of blue 
black velvet sky

Lost tonight to the temple of booze and
           dubes and bars
swimming under the wonder of stars
           joined hand in hand  on desert sand

To the east a glowing fire
                     a new star dying      High
                             above the golden sand

Fire flies and sparks grow bright 
          on the blank black canvas 
                         of a clear silent night

An explosion of incandescent sparks
     just west of were the bikes were parked.

           Three wise men mount steeds of steel 
and grease and flying rims of spokes 
that smoke the night of grit and sand 

        rode the desert sands at speed to a cave
                                 in the side of a secret bluff

A shelter
               barely, 
                           three walls and a dirt roof

In the darkness of the cave 
      carved by wind or desert god in a 
forgotten time
         
      a miracle of new death 
                                             maybe
A teenage girl nurses a blue eyed baby

Maria was the virgins name.
                    swore she’d never know a man 
she fed them on a stew 
wild desert brew
and wine from a poisoned chalice

They loved her that mother so divine loved her skin and her sweet wine
gave her all the cash they had
                                                  kissed the blue eyed babies head 
     then fell 
               before him
                             on bruised knees 
                                                       In death 
                             a desert epiphany to late

Three bodies lay 
                  where they died 
                                   LSD is not for  wise men

when the sun rose on cold desert morn 
the virgin and her child long gone.

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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