Manic

   psylocibin visions of the gustapo 

 

      Side eyed Sillohettes

 

   amber angels weeping

 

Broken hour glass, the sand is deafening

 

Old age wombs never healing

 

Rock n roll on stone radios

 

The jukebox is burning

 

Jimmy Reed is howling

 

 

She's a Biblical ghost 

 

 

The rains washing away the memory of seasons & sorrow

 

black charcoal cigarettes lit on toasters and stove tops and occasional match or broken lighter with broken fingers 

 

 

typewriters are all lost in manic void, where is the Xanax

 

 

my mirror is a liar, I'm disfigured & brainless

 

sungazers with delusions of presidential masscures

 

The 60s and atomic energy

 

My eyes are bleeding

 

Restless relapse while the madhouse is convulsing 

 

My engines burnt out and so am I

 

 

Heavenly silks seem simple

 

I lived in Brooklyn with the holy ghost

 

The apartment turned into Alcatraz 

 

Voodoo in the basement 

 

 

The windows are laughing & Aphrodite is naked on the floor

 

I became Enoch's hermetic thoughts

 

 I'm the 7th from Adam 

 

 

Revelations inside the cathedral's blackened tecture

 

 

The candles placement was a sign from the reaper

 

This bar is cursed 

 

Accidental pentagram during drunken bar hop

 

 

The black birds are speaking to me in tongues 

 

I played chess alone and drank whiskey for comfort

 

magnetic serophim statue is the apple of my sleepless eyes

 

I was never interested, well versed in cursive verses 

 

I seen serpants in the bookstore

 

I asked questions like a monk on a briefcase

 

 

I preached to the wind & deserved a psyche ward

 

how long was I in the rabbit hole

 

 

Flashes of sheer terror 

 

 

I got lost in a forest in Washington, My delusions lead me in circles. Worried about the secret service like a lunatic 

 

 

I indeed did walk in the valley of the shadow of death 

 

 

Lucifer played his music in a miserable mist

 

I Rose from the dead and I used poetry to mask my illness

 

 

Chain smoking, visions of kerouacs hang up

 

I woke up feeling whole again, how long will this last

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Stole some words from some of my previous poems. Lazy with my writing at times. Been a rough few months. Felt good to write something again.

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allets's picture

A Multitude Of Sutras

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voodoo basemented -- I think I lived there once. Time obscures in that rabbit hole huh? Fine write - will read you. ~S~


 

 

lyrycsyntyme's picture

Something about this has me

Something about this has me feeling as if Bob Dylan, Don McLain, and Bruce Springstein circa Blinded By The Light all had a love child together on your piece of paper. I say that not to short change you at all. Whose ever love child this poem may be, you lit the candles, you set the mood, and you were the matchmaker.

 

My favorite line: "the sand is deafening". I could hear it the moment I read it.