Pastiche

A little nostalgic fun while I work on a blog on the role of government.

Let it be
just you
and me
this time
having tea
with the tillerman
in Cosmo's factory;

deja vu for the two of us
alone together, again,
holed up in the Morrison hotel, surviving
on one burnt weeny sandwich
and cracklin' rose wine.

So close to you,
everything is beautiful,
but give me just a little more time
on this long and winding road,
for though we've only just begun,
all things must pass, even as

American beauty roses wither,
whether in drought, or fire and rain,
their bruised petals scent the air
around our sex machine,

shooting at the moon, we cross
a bridge over troubled waters, hear
the madcap laughs of the star sailor
who claims the moondance as his own
at the end of the game.