The Woman On The Wall

The Woman On The Wall

The way she looked at me seemed to suggest
That everything I'd come to know about
Myself may be incomprehensibly wrong
And hinted at
The possibility of another reality altogether

There was nothing else to do
But sit down and listen
The museum was closed and I was
Tip-toeing on a tight rope
As if the things I could
See and touch were only
A sparkle in the eye of something much larger
A note played from the organ and the sun set
Who told Marie Denise to break the world?
And when she did so
Why did she choose to break it so perfectly?
There are two types of art
The first is that which causes
One to see reality differently
The other gently tears through
Reality revealing a divine
Ocean of wonder previously hidden from sight
This was the second kind
I sat cross legged like a monk
I never saw her again
And what to do with this memory?
Store it next to all the insignificant
Ones in my mind like
The times a bird shat on
My striped shirt in Stockholm?
That doesn't seem appropriate at all
I'm a Dylan fan
I took mushrooms by myself on a
Sunday for the second time
That was October and now it's January
It's winter in some places, summer in others
I can't tell you what I saw
That day in the museum
I can only tell you I love you
Give that whatever meaning you wish
Because the swan doesn't beg
For attention and
The sun doesn't shine to be seen
It's all in the way it fit's
How could I go back to LA now?
Everything was different and that
Night I ate too
Much at the deli and couldn't sleep
I had seen too much it made no sense like a
Rollercoaster in the winter time
What more can I give you?
Give me peace, give me freedom, give me love
Good Lord, give me love