September 7, 2021

Floydian Slip

This is a tribute to psychedelic music. And a confession of a bong. 

At dawn's gate puffs the piper 
a saucerful of secrets -- ummagumma and more. 
An atom heart mothers 
 its meddled relics. 

At cloud-obscured Z-point, 
a grass pad propels me 
 to moon's dark side - 
Wish you were here! 

The walls within and between 
alienate all animals, 
comfy or numb, awaiting final cut 
of deception and betrayal. 

These gigs on grass ink
lapses of reasoning momentary. 
Thunderstruck, division bells 
sound delicate. 

Through the passage of time 
on an endless river, 
the trips rock through 
 art, space and prog. 

Marooned yet free, 
sound and silence echo 
my pulse in experiments 
truly Floyd a rhapsody in pink!

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