ACROSS THE UNIVERSE

endless rain inside a paper cup

Jesus Christ, I think, I was out there on the rocks, in the headwaters of the Ganges, with my father and I still remember the path down, between the urine soaked walls. And the temples, sticky underfoot after celebrations, smelling of sweat and diesel and old fruit.

they slither wildly as they slip away acrss the universe

Sitting in the courtyard, the shadows still holding snow, Zelda and I spoke in quiet voices. That metal fence, I thought, that is the metal fence she climbed. That's how she ran away.

pools of sorrow waves of joy

Jacob called. He said his parents were getting divorced. I walked around the block six times, listening. “How are you doing?” I asked. “Fine.” he said.

are slipping through my open mind
possessing and caressing me

I looked out the window. Those are the hills of Tamil Nadu. No those are the hills of the Mekong. No of Nyungwe. I have no picture. I can't tell you.

NOTHINGS GOING TO CHANGE MY WORLD
NOTHINGS GOING TO CHANGE MY WORLD
NOTHINGS GOING TO CHANGE MY WORLD

images of broken light

And I was suddenly at the edge of town. The lights ended. The houses stopped. Beyond were rice fields and banana trees and sweet parsley and cassava, but only in smell. The night obscured all but the reflections in the shallow ride paddies.

From Zelda's hospital room, I could see the place where, three years earlier, I had gotten out of a car after five days of hitchhiking.

which dance beofre me like a million eyes

they call me on and on
across the universe

On the faces of the eastern mountains, I could see red scars, great chimneys rising from the mines. This is what he saw, I thought, when he was five years old, standing barefoot on the front porch, feeling the morning sun warm the buttons of his overalls.

thoughts meander like a restless wind
inside a letter box

they tumble blindly as they make
their way across the universe

Sick, I bought a ticket to Tanzania and slept through the flight. I argued with a taxi driver and locked my hotel room. I looked in the mirror. God. I'm so white. My eyes are so gaunt.

David Sir Wallace was standing asleep with his arm around me and a guitar strapped to his back when I felt a hand in my pocket. A pickpocket! I pushing the hand away. He thought I was as drunk as David and tried again. I pushed him harder. David stagger as my weight shifted. “Ce n'est pas Bastille,” he muttered from his drunken slumber.

NOTHINGS GOING TO CHANGE MY WORLD
NOTHINGS GOING TO CHANGE MY WORLD
NOTHINGS GOING TO CHANGE MY WORLD

sounds of laughter, shades of life

I thought my life had ended, but there I was on the back of a motorcycle, shivering in the morning cold, still dark, hills of tea, green in the predawn, rolling further than I could see.

are ringing through my opened ears
inciting and inviting me

I watched the city become material, as the plane approached for landing. I knew the spires. The Haghia Sophia! I had seen it in a painting. From this angle! Where?

limitless undying love

The calvary station above town was deserted. Only the wooden wall remained. Rain came in one cloud, through the same pass that had stocked the outpost. I was soaked in desert rain by the time I reached shelter.

which shines around me like a million suns

She was gone, but I remember climbing in bed. Are the shadows painted on the wall, I wondered. Is that rain on the roof? How far is Vashon Island? How far is Lummi Island?

it calls me on across the universe

I sing to myself. The radio doesn't work in the car. It's been hours. Hours. The sun is warm. It was warm. I sing the same words again and again. I could be in California

NOTHINGS GOING TO CHANGE MY WORLD
NOTHINGS GOING TO CHANGE MY WORLD
NOTHINGS GOING TO CHANGE MY WORLD