Leave My Eyes on the Rocks for the Birds

Dreams of doing drugs at the edge of the desert.

Leave my eyes on the rocks for the birds
but slice the rest of me into bite-sized pieces;
salt me in the oceans
dry me on desert stones
roast me upon the boundaries of suns
and in your eulogy speak of my taste of bitterness.

Leave my eyes on the rocks for the birds
but let my smooth-worn soul be fed wheat and barley
dangling from the fingers of beer fairies--
their touch ferments;
let opiate muses sing me to sleep
and my dreams be filled with pot-headed angels
taking me into the wetness of their slack mouths
and between the white vastness of their breasts.

Leave my eyes on the rocks for the birds
but let the doctor and the duke deliver
my road-tired soul
to the Eastern Gate of Sal's Paradise;
let Old Bull Lee shoot bottles off my head--
let Carlo Marx howl--
and spin with me to a barbaric yawp
sounded over the roofs of the universe.

Only leave my eyes on the rocks for the birds
that they might s**t them out from a high place.