Forgetting your problems

 Joint moistened soaken smoke drawing through
Browning the paper
Clouding the mind
Ember all uneven fighting to stay lit

Thc pouring through
Into the lungs
The young man dizzy stoned
Park bench a little less even now

Sitting at an odd angle
the taste of smoke
The throat becoming super dry
A salty effect on every mucosal bridge to external reality

Haze intensifies, thoughts swirl into dreams
That seem too good to be true
then backward into spiny nightmares
The body shudders and the throat dries even more

His future plans get jumbled
Little aspects of them fall away
He is left with the essence
But can't remember any deeper sense of the why

He loiters as families take their children to the local nursery
He walks in circles lost in strange thoughts
That promise a road ahead but slowly fade into nowhere
He retreats to the bench and grabs his bag

Starts walking back to his small apartment
His occupation and his beliefs to trick him into thinking
He is on his way forward
His life was more of a moonwalk 

Playing the universe

 It isn't about winning or losing.
It's about veering off the road where there was no driveway.
It's about morphing into something even you can't understand.

It's about cradling a vision, a parallel world where things are different.
That is where you play with the universe.
Because you never see it clearly, and by proxy you confuse yourself,
becoming a little inside out.

But I can do that.
Others think it's just words, but I've told you before that words are spells, strange magic.
I can play games with the universe,
or play them on myself, knowing I'll eventually get confused,
laying the metaphorical acid beneath my tongue,
spinning out of control before resurfacing into the normal grey repetitions.

If I was the Magus

 I would put the bewitched reptiles in enclosures and sacrifice different creatures to them in ritual form drooling at the gums. Purring in the throat. And getting the hall ghost all uppidy.

I would dance around the banana and electrify the webs of the orb weavers, bestowing supernatural powers upon them.

I would holler at the full moon and have it illuminate the acerola hedge.
The equinox is non existant, the humming bird slender and taut.

I would bury coins beneath the papaya,
so the roots could feel rich and call the ants to guard them.
 
I would teach the passionfruit vine to climb beyond the wall and send its tendrils into the night, where the bats could conduct their arcane ceremonies.

hide and seek in the bamboo wasteland

 The water hit the railway lines and increased
swallowing them whole
while the young empty minded
Ran around the bamboo wasteland

Night to day and back into night in a flash
Convincing themselves of their roles
Until they had no identity
Outside of the seeker outside of the hider

Conjuring the sense of normalcy
the sense of absolute insanity
the young and empty minded
looking within and finding voids

What is common and easy to fill this gap
what is popular and acceptable
world look at me
Uniqueness is shame 

Cleaner and the Dame

 Standing inside the chamber of the train station
Furr coat and looking resplendant
Early afternoon it was
At her left the cleaner with his wide broom
Long yellowy dreadlocks working class swagger
Taken by her elegance
Uttered sweet words under his breath

She pretends to ignore
Let it all pass but its been such a long time
Since she heard such things from a man
New passengers exited the train
Walking up the steps toward them
She took her things and descended

Her perfume and person grinding friction
Against the oncoming dull eyed commuters
Train doors close and dreadlocked cleaner looks from afar
In his mind treating the train itself as thief
As it moved off slowly
That rich woman he would never even have a chance with

Those parts better ignored

 

I unfolded the deck chair.
I could still smell the stench of the landfill.
But I didn't care. I saw this folded deckchair and I took it to the only piece of grass available, there in front of the tall pines.
I sat and then stretched out on it, testing it out to see if I could indeed take it home with me.
The creak of the aluminium bars made me feel uneasy like it was going to collapse.

I ignored it. In fact I ignored a lot of things, I ignored the fact I’d have trouble fitting it into my hatchback.
Or the fact that the sun was slowly moving away and storm clouds seemed to be assembling.
Or even the dead watersnake sitting two meters from me next to a contaminated stream not thirty centimeters wide, and less than an inch deep.

Yes I would ignore all inconvenient truths and take what I could for myself like a kid who snuck into a birthday party he wasn't even invited to.
Filling my pockets with anything out there, like I would fill my hatch back with this deck chair right here. I had the perfect place for it on the southern facing balcony where the slow early autumn sun would keep warm until nightfall.

I spent another 20 minutes ignoring the world in that cute little dell by the landfill.
Then lifted myself up and folded the deckchair back together. It was painted brown like the eighties brown, orange and yellow.
I pushed the seats down in the hatch and fit the deck chair in.
Yep. I said to myself this would be a victory.

As I turned to get into the driver's seat I saw an extremely skinny man with ginger hair staring at me. At first I thought ne might be an old work colleague but there looked to be a sign of disappointment on his face. He seemed to be looking at the deck chair poking partially out of one of the windows.

“That used to be mine,” the man said.
“Oh well I guess you shouldn’t have thrown it out.” I said, not watching my tone.
“Well it was actually my wife.” he said in a sad distant tone.
“Deep down she knew I liked it, used to belong to my great aunt Joyce. Of course she never used it.” He said a tear came to his eye.

“Well I promise to take care of it.” I said looking to comfort the man.
The man said nothing and went walking over to the pines.
As I pulled out of the landfill I noticed him just staring up at those dark evergreen pines.
The first drops of rain started in and the rumble of thunder startled me.
What was he ignoring I said to myself as I drove out.

Washed out in the downpour

 The rain is incessant
It comes to leach all thoughts and feelings
To purge any sense of self one might have
To hit the pavement and wash out the accumulated trash

To wash out your lifeless opinions that hold no value or sense
But echo sweeter than well polished soundbite on a crisp spring morning
It all flows out get pushed away in the deluge with debris and lost cares
The sense of productivity also got washed out

The rivers expand and take out the margins slowly and ever greedily
Sitting water allows the mosquitos to proliferate
They fly in and land on bare skin but when they drink they get ill
Because the blood is no longer vibrationally sound

The blood and spirit is dull and without life
Without excitement or inspiration
And so the mosquito fills up
but cannot move afterward

The waters run and collect and smother
The mosquito falls off the wall
Full of tedium flavored blood
and the clouds agglomerate and hover

Conspiring about the next downfall
Excluding the important message of the sun