By the Spanish Arch
a few kind crusty folks
talk in the March sunlight.

Soft incantations of sweet trad
spill from a concertina, tin whistle
and fiddle, sloshing out an ambiance.

An old fella' makes a poor man's black velvet,
The ladies drink Estrella Galicia and San Miguel.
Another lad jokes: my grief counselor died last week

but he was so **** good I didn't care.

A motley crew, good-natured and friendly,
Drawn to session like moths to a flame;
Always I wonder whether I belong.

"I think in his heart Frodo is still in love with the Shire:
The woods, the fields…little rivers. I'm old Gandalf.
I know I don't look it, but I'm beginning to feel it"

I took some suboxone
and wandered down to Dead Man's Beach,
Drifting over the sands, blown out, floating away
in the Atlantic wind,

I forget what troubles me.

The plateaux and caverns which map
my cognitive landscape correspond
by virtue of something; something
determines the salience of beliefs
and their ability to traverse this

I'm sick of believing in things.
Lets break the dialectic
and go for a swim

I take 25mg of DPH to sleep. No effect.
I am feverish, restless.

In the morning I test positive.
I experience symptoms between a cold and flu.
Fatigue, headache, congestion, dry chesty cough,
Changes in taste, constriction of pupils, nerve pain
in the roots of my teeth, and cognitive fog. After three days I mend.
After ten days my isolation ends.

That soporific dose of diphenhydramine went unnoticed, blotted out
by the onset of coronavirus.

May your word be supple with optimism
and may their cognitions follow suit.
I took a little 2C-D tonight
and prayed to move

Old friends corrupted by the apotheon,
Old fiends so wretched.
New **** as if we're more wholesome,
New hope for a free agent.

The weekend comes and goes,
I should party more. At night I go driving
around G-town in my old Lexus.

How does a man on earth live,
Does he live like this?
Exhausted,