*Head is going to explode,
But at least he has Van Morrison,
Up, down, around and around,
The sense of foundation shivers,
Like a life-sized Jello molded Tower of Babel.
A seat belt would be wise,
But nah, the ride is for him – by him
You might want to click,
Or cliché,
Leaving him to the exterior.
A bumbling idiot delirious with pleasure,
Dancing naked in the snow,
Can’t feel his toes,
Skull warmed by the internal inferno,
Madness makes an enthusiastic blanket.
Memories of liberation twinkling,
Perhaps a hyperbolic thought whose time has passed,
Sensuality in it fullest gratification,
Someone Else lacing the ambience,
Vocalized clicks and beeps through a life-induced haze.
Reach for logic,
End up lost the Woods of Non-Woods,
The map is wrong because there is here…what the hell?,
Pursuing Bacchus, but always finding the question “why?â€
(See * above)
…
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