Read time: approx 4 minutes
written in December 2020
I’ve started to root my feet as I walk
so as not to fly away
my head is up inside the clouds
and clouds aren’t here to stay
Appearing normal as ever I was
so it appears I walk on ground
yet inside my mind the streets transformed
a different time, a long lost day, reality unbound
You see, I hesitate to admit
the spontaneous overflow of emotion
that overwhelmed me this past weekend
uninvited tears and two ice cream cakes
Later and I feel better than before
and stronger without falling
feel I’m falling safely to the ground
after being so far away in order to survive
That is the key. Traveling far away
my way costs a little less these days
when travel is forbidden on a political –
I mean for-your-safety and conspiracy theories
Dismissed once more completely unlike
twenty years before when a 9-11 call
came to distress a nation continuously
paying for the evil deeds it continues
To commit. So it seems unfathomable that
I should be able to arrange words
in a way they’ve never been arranged
before since everything is repeating itself
How did they find their way
here now to your hands
to your eyes. How many parts
of your mind are you using
to comprehend this basis
and how many senses are
liberating you or
simultaneously imprisoning
you in samsaric pleasure seeking
yet no endless bliss
I could be anywhere in this
warm hazy gloom I’ve created
in this room
electric guitar riffs and
smoke lifts, incense and candles
burning low, low like my gaze,
low like the spirits of the masses
drawing near the end of what
some may call a “fucked up” year
check it out as a meme somewhere
I want to be held by arms that love me
even though arms cannot love
and to pretend the body and mind
want the same thing is deceit
Smokey blues, and my bare feet
stretched over the back of the
kitchen chair in front of me. Not warm
nor cold and so I can no longer
sense them and my mind in a trance
disconnects from my body and
in the flickering candlelight dance
with the clear, thick sound in my ear
I lose myself, I lose the moment into
a single sensation of the moment
tactile functioning ceases as auditory
rapture plays a different sensation
across the skin. What’s that, pores?
Bring a friend! Goosebumps rise to no end.
If you run your hand against me now
to this solo I may literally die of overstimulation
and it’s not just the copious blooms
of Mary Jane’s bouquets floating through the dark
nor is it the magnificent high
although it helps
it’s this fucking art to heart music in ear
and olfactory tickling dense breath via nostril
and the trance of expression while
simultaneously bearing witness to
manifestation and expressing and perceiving
the metaphysics of this existing in the
future space of your present moment.
This tragically ignored dependency
worse than the drugs used tonight
has mutilated our minds into ignorance
rooted deep.
And so this skin feels music as touch
and yet feels touch not
from within this dream realm which is
impaired life, I feel the strings as fingers
strum on skin and percussion as too much
at times too intense but oh that brass
really gets me from the inside out
really putting the sax in saxual intercourse.
The woodwinds in my hair and as whispers
on my neck – over the top sensations
that would give anthropologists cause
to study: what drug is this?
And gypsy magic would be the reply
because the music is the magic
and the roots run deep
the attachment runs deep
Yet rooting
here I am attempting
to root also
so that I might not fly away
this time, at least not today
I’ve got busy work not time for play
touching my hard nipples
to rock and roll and blues
outside of the dream
the kitchen chair is damn
hard on my ass and I have to
adjust my position and
leave the reverie behind.
The Halfwit Writer 