And All The Grass Is As The Flesh Poem by Richard Blanch

In the night comes a glow of a thousand sparks
Lighting joys which pass through the brooding mind
Of a hovering shade. There are boys, there are girls
Entwined in the dark where illicit smoke swirls,
Burning back tiredness and sleep. There are lines
Linking limbs, binding fine softnesses
Into a freedom, a communal preference
Wheeling and winding, gleaming and shining
Past laws and gender. An arc, a quintessence,
A lark in the heart. Only the wilfully
Blind pass untouched. But it frightens. It glides
Like a song round the spirit, confiding, enticing.
The grass is too sweet. Only the wide eyed can guide
Us, can find where we hide and stir us to seeing
And hearing. Look. They have turned back the tide
Of unbeing. They come, glossy-thighed, to welcome
Us in through the rind of the world.. It is time.