Thunder crashes
for miles outside w/the rest of the world shaking the ground to her uncertain
roots and I’m on my sofa lost in sober thought; sitting warm having an early
smoke with my morning tea and they both give me the tranquility and the moment
I need. I’m a worshipping herbalist thru ‘n thru.
Playing w/the
crafty witch overnight, her scents, and her magical spells. Love to my goddess
divine, hopeless romantic in her dance ~ her rhymes and my waking 3rd
eye.
Sliding in and
out of this lifestyle but only when I’m penning it down like a madman
w/a weapon carving up a willing page with my heart on. Come around to the live
mosaic of thoughts screaming to her city a breath of sin. Come around to the
fractals and the music, maybe the lounge muzak too.
Living with the curious
faces pushing out through my crowded tv screen with a snow storm influence.
Faces holding each other back while reaching for the common aqualung. Electro-sharp
from the abandoned plug and one of them changed the channel on me.
(click-click)
Brief sanctuary
is never sufficient no matter what they tell you. It disappears as
quickly as your candid youth.
Sittin’ here
enjoying the free shift on my knob and the wicked tiptoes that dance ninja
style across the phone wire shaking raindrops loose for the next barrage of
sinful hopes.
Flying the good
time as always and doing the other in a clandestine manner with the gamey smell
of the condor making its way out like a poison to a frantic schnoz.
Grand egress is
the American way.
Victor Millan
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