The vanity lights above the bathroom sink Cast a shadow of his hair while he brushes his teeth; He sees dunegrass waving on Asilomar's sandy hills, Framed by a gray-white sky and shoreline fog; His mouth foam is whitecaps breaking beyond the dunes, And the peppermint flavor is the balm on her lips Joining hers to his in love's timeless lock, As they embrace in the face of a cool and salty breeze, The ecstatic passion of youth, youth of years upon years.
The Demon-Casters of Asilomar,
in the great lodge room,
huddle before fire,
Ess-word mutterings float,
"...sssalvation...,
...sssatan...,
...ssssin...",
potent, frequent
"...Jesssusss...".
Bowed backs as
shields,
Stares as
needles, knitting,
White thin lips as
prophet, knowing,
But no
blue eyes on the
lurking heathens
(who suck your soul),
No
flirtation,
temptation,
touching the
unwashed.
This is a joyless,
serious pursuit,
Saving the world.