Of course I feel like dying, the world's only getting blacker.
Of course I feel like crying, I feel like a disaster.
I see the light through crimson eyes and that appears is red.
It's not hate, maybe its' rage, but I know my spirit's dead.
I take that back, that's not the fact. It's probably only sleeping.
Yet so much I look around and hope that I'm not dreaming.
Cause everything's not so painful and dark, not everything's a funeral
Just get out and smell the roses, this life is also beautiful.

The hustle and bustle over
the bodies of the dead
The tossing and turning under
the spirits of living

Go ahead; live your life
As if no one was there first Before you
Feel important and do great things
With the last 80 year's you have

Travel as far and wide as you can
Through the whirls of the wild
And the depths of the desert
But you can't escape

Soon you'll be cordially welcome
To the cult of spirits down below
A forgotten existence, but new addition
To the Graveyard under the City

Oh, how we fall!
Back into our subtle brawl.
Of bickering and silent fits.
Of two at their last wits.
Oh, how we tried!
To just be on the same side.
But we're two separate countries.
Picking a different war monthly.
Oh, how I pray!
That one day we'll be okay.
That I won’t have to watch how I speak.
That I won't feel so left out of your clique.
Oh, why must I dream!?
Of something that will never be...

35

#35 on the menu sounded good,
though not pronounceable by my Minnesota tongue.
With a Thai accent, the waiter asked
how we’d like our food, mild, medium or hot.
My friends and my wife opted for mild but I chose hot;
I’d heard really hot peppers turn the key
that unlocks the endorphin cabinet,
and being a child of the ‘60s, I knew what was inside.

I chose boneless chicken, carrots cut to look like flowers,
green beans, and broccoli with mushrooms and rice
lightly sauteed to just beyond crunchy,
all sprinkled with red pepper flakes.

After the first forkfull, my tongue ignited, my lips kindled
and my face took on the color of a cayenne sunrise.
With the second taste, salt water,
the ocean we all carry inside our bodies,
reached high tide on my forehead.,
Waves of sweat broke on the beach of my face.

I gulped ice water and beer, glass after glass, but the heat increased
as in between ice cubes I shoveled more delicious coal on the fire,
unable to stop until my stomach could hold no more
and I had to ask for a carry-out container.

After a night of flaming dreams,
I woke with my lips still atingle, my tongue crackling.
Gasping for cool air, I remembered the take-home box,
half ran to the kitchen for well water and ice,
filled a pitcher, placed it in the fridge,
salivating with anticipation of lunch
and another dose of #35.