FREE SPIRIT

Like Kerouac  -

into the black star-studded night was her pleasure,

full measure of The Golden Eternity to taste;

to sup the cup; to unravel the tangle of being;

to unravel this riddle that gripped her gentle soul like a shadow.

She was a Baccante:  ‘drinks for all!’

She was Magdalene among the butt-strewn alleyways of time.

She was anarchic jazz in the midst of strict measure.

But, suddenly the light thickened (as once for the blackbird on my window cill:

the un-guessed element freezing her flight).

She struggled with its numbness (I was told);

struggled  -  spirit with rag of body  -  to counter death’s weight (I was told).

But I know, it was always the thought of heaven made her shiver most.




a string breaks
her song stops:
'don't think twice...'