Riding home
The eighteenth hour
I watched a house burn to ashes
2 miles from home
Its chimney so full
I watched a house burn to ashes
The porch was open flames
That scorched the dogwoods
They smoked and caught
Then burnt to ashes
A stranger’s home
I don’t know who lived there
They’ve burnt to ashes
Bones at home
Thoughts left alone in empty skulls
Everything is burnt to ashes

Depressing isn’t it?
I actually saw this after 20 hours of consciousness 18 of them behind the wheel. Bad acid couldn’t have done a better job of fucking up the New York high I was still riding. Everything I saw in New York was joy to my senses, intravenous beauty. I walked through snow in Central Park with Bitca on my arm and we lost our breath over roses in Strawberry Fields. Met some brilliant people on the subways and came home with new music and comics.
I love fire and appreciate the {sweet fatalism] of nature destroying something we have built.
But still , I have my abstract appreciation and they lost something there, maybe everything.