An Ode to Brion Gysin, ( the book this poem is named after is well-worth checking out) - The artist, and friend, collaborator of William Burroughs
And when you think it's all lined up and a surprise steps in the way,
And when you turn to the things you shouldn't to make it a brighter day.
Take the text and cut it up and form a new technique,
Experiment, create art forms resonating and unique.
And in back street bars and hotel rooms with souls drifting wild and free,
Perpetually creating not promoting, art need not come with a fee.
And coach-bound, on a long journey gazing through the window
As the city emerges in frantic splendour and the heart urges to go.
And the sun merges with the untravelled landscape
Staring in its potent light agape
Closing eyes to see colours sparking, retina transformed not dreary,
The visual passage takes flight to form and the mind from it's tired weary.
The Dream Machine captures its effect through a template, vinyl whirring,
And through closed eyes over the light, minds eye begins its stirring.
The naked bulb, much like the lunch
Free-wheeling, splendid spirits
The artists speak in bounding glory, but this art they may not exhibit,
For what is learnt through such a process is nothing is true, and everything is permitted.