Many times I’ve
tried to kill this sexual face of mine but fell mad in love once again.
Yet again
~
I was attracted
to myself, me, and the I and no one else.
Dancing in
the mirror – doing a spin ~ rock posters on the walls.
Oh man, a
little a ‘dis smoke helps me play it so
cool
like a bit of
the ding dong ding loving his Chinese poon tang Ming
and, hey
jack! ~ I know you know what I
mean.
Rock posters on the wall
Loving rock
cocaiine.
Go-Go dancing
in my brain cocaine.
One day I
know they’ll let me in the fiends
Hall of Fame.
And I looked
back at my haunting reflection with a razor sharp gleam. A crackhead chopper
razor gleam. Checking out my scraggly beard and tempestuous face scaring the
ghosts taking pleasure notes behind me ~
I was mostly
thinking about a way to take a large chunk of the pie without stuttering
through my lines. This so-called American dream baby’s been sold on and I keep
eyeballing from my place deep in the warm quicksand.
And I kept on
dancing – getting myself unbuckled.
Feeling the good
mood and the compulsory hornytoads running the energy up n down the broken stem. Feeling
like my head was navigating swimmingly through the aggravation – I thought I
had it under control but then the fading daylight reminded me of the smell that
had me hooked and it left me turned off with disappointment.
The ceiling fan
was still spinning in synch with the record album ~ 33 lp
and I thought
about chopping up that last precious little rock, but not in Arkansas!, and burning it up to hell in a
resined drug sacrifice ~ the sweet smoke.
Some nights I
had to eat swill and feasted with the swine ~
all the while
laying in my waste wishing to be cleansed with vinegar
and wine.
1995
Victor Millan
