The landscape of the red planet
Hung on the wall beckoning me
Into its alien realm,
Rocks of fine sand
Like some places
On Earth,
But not…
Blood stopped in it's tracks
As my naked feet tread upon it
And I thought about
Your blood flowing in the street
Of mud mixing like an artist pallet
Tranced out I look at
My crimson stained hands
And realize I am in front
Of thousands
Applauding me
And my chalk art
While a flat superman
Lies beaten in the street
Beside me
Alien beings speak
Without moving lips
Their minds
Speak faster in images
And I fly across the surface
Of Mars
Or Andalari
Or some word of a world
That cannot be spoken
By human tongues
And souls drift past
Human and not
Visiting while dreaming
Or tripping
Who can tell?
Who cares…
The artists are painting
Pieces of it back on earth
And no one but the visionaries
Know it is the same place
The Landscape of the red planet.
