Walked Into New Hampshire and the Karma Was Bangin' Wind blows hither and wither
renders your hair into slithers
as braids and the bus bounce
rockily rolling on to
New Hampshire,
two nights to sleep under smiling stars
and unlit sky stretched high and afar,
3 days to hike mountains reaching to the sun,
the Tower of Babel and be at one,
with the sweet
trees, I am to my knees
overcomee by and surrendered to
the power of photosyntheis,
life force, universal fluid flow,
and flotation of soul
on a string
‘tached to a balloon rising
over the utter cow,
who never did quite reach the moon,
and how
can one ever be sad
having climbed beyond
look down upon
hovering ponds of vaporous biss,
the world,
and all of it you have had.