I height Don Quixote, I live on Peyote
marihuana, morphine and cocaine.
I never knew sadness but only madness
that burn at the heart and the brain.
I see each charwoman ecstatic, inhuman,
angelic, demonic, divine,
Each wagon a dragon, each beer a mug a flagon
that brims with ambrosial wine….
The mountains are palaces, women are chalices
meant to be supped and not sold,
The desert a banquet hall set for a festival,
ripe for the free and the bold;
The wind and the sky are ours, heaven and all of it’s scars,
waken, and do what you will;
Break with this demon spawn’d hell-inspired nightmare
bond-Magick lies over the hill.
They said I was crazy, ambiguous, lazy,
disgusting, fantastic, obscene;
So I hied my sagebrush and cactus and corn mush,
To see if the air was still clean.
I height Don Quixote, I live on Peyote
marihuana, morphine and cocaine,
And may I be thrice damned for a bank clerk or store hand
if I visit the city again.