A Bus Named FURTHUR

I sometimes cannot prevent myself from committing poetry.  This time I'm going to inflict it on you:

A Bus Named FURTHUR

In memory of Aldous Huxley, the trailblazer and guide who has led the way, opening the

Doors of Perception for many to take the trip to

Furthur.

1939 International Harvester

1960s sound and film

Day-Glo paints,

Mandalas smeared and loppy.

Destination sign reads “Furthur”.

Are you on the bus –

-- or off the bus?

Neal Cassady’s driving:

Dean Moriarity On The Road again.

Foot down hard, going fast;

Hands in air – he steers by mental force.

Non-stop monolog – Beat rap now decades long enchanting all around but the traffic cop who gets confused and slinks away silently

– not on the bus.



Merry Pranksters careering thru deserts and down to Houston;

Stop at McMurtry’s door:

Larry dazed and enraged

At Blanket Girl naked on his lawn.

You’re either on the bus –

-- or off the bus.

On to Gotham: McMurphy’s on the stage

And foiling Ratched – who missed the bus long ago.



Sometimes a Great Notion: on to Millbrook

And enlightened Guru Tim.

But Tibet chants and Book of Dead are just a killing bore.

Tim’s dropped out --

– and off the bus.



Back on the bus – and furthur west:

The Fillmore waits; Garcia has the band.

Light show flicker/flows and Owsley spikes the brew:

Orange Sunshine for the trip.



If you pass the Acid Test, no need to use the bus.

Your mind’s enough:

The trip is always FURTHUR.