Must be Stoned

We’ll clap our hands

Till the sun’s come up

Honey, we’ll fuck

‘till the moon has done his job

I saw this guy

With a spoon

He bent it down

To half a moon

He must be stoned

The wind has blown

A virgin angel in my hair

She arranged the stars in a matrix figure

Here, now, yesterday and there

He must be stoned

I am you, and you’re me

We must become friends

We could live in a small farm

Where eden ends

Ira Cohen, Ted Jones

Allen Ginsberg on the telephone

I read “Mein Kampf” in Jiddisch

The writer must have been stoned

He must be stoned

Isn’t life beautiful ?

Isn’t death the best ?

If God is everything,

May I be the rest?

Last week someybody

Logged in into my brain

He told me that I once was an Indian

Painfull lovely and a smart way of insane

He must be stoned

written by Mark Lotterman, 2003