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Mar 2014 · 861
?Hmmm?Mind?Rhyme?
Brycical Mar 2014
Makin' creatin' a lightspeed igniting conversation, one star nation takes patience to see the people slowly wakin' n' bakin' up like an S.O.S is morse code from herb tokes in the late midnight.

Indigo third eye aliens sailin' in wailin' blues like the sinnerman nina simone and tracy chapman entrapped and entwined like a serpentine mind warp in time like kaleidoscope bhavacakra.

We be inside a cocoon of warmth, while sunsets high atop begets a period of gratitude n' news of ancient wizards of the earth burning sacred stories in sky paintings of clouds in the Canadian north spring equinox.

Fox spirits and raccoon  split spliffs from peace pipes at night. Families are reuniting. Trojan horse tricks lift spirits hearin' our kicks and screams howlin' and wowlin' at the moonlight while kali dragons claw away time 'till its an infinite mush of mashed sweet potato pie,
but in order to make one from scratch we must first create the universe.
Mar 2014 · 1.4k
Living Mythologies
Brycical Mar 2014
For some, certain places
hold a rather mythic oeuvre
in our veins; they are seen as places of magic.

Maybe a cyclist couple
have spent most of their money
on traveling  the world for their blog,
their last stop is New York City
so that they may get pictures of themselves
at places like The Brooklyn Bridge, Lady Liberty
& that megalithic skyline reaching the clouds.
Or maybe a foodie from Wisconsin
just wants to try Famous Ben's Pizza on the West Side
because its New York ******' New York pizza.

Maybe a doe-eyed screenwriter skips
his flat square suburban town
to sell his words and soul to the sprawling sunny L.A
where dreams are made in pixels.

Maybe some New Age beaded wrist to ankle lady
spent her life savings to jump over the ocean
to visit the ancient pyramids built for a purpose
yet fully known.

Maybe a bearded dude
visits Easter Island to try and understand
the complexities of his ancestors while
soaking in the rich vastness of nature around.


Maybe I used to see places this way. Probably...


But in these places people live!
It's not mythology to them.

Maybe every night a homeless man prays
& begs for food on the late night A-train in NYC.

Maybe a middle-aged fading blonde couple
spend their time in L.A at a health food store
to recoup the savings they lost joining a cult way back when.

Maybe a Swedish teen  traverses the trash
and littered-burned streets of Giza everyday
on her way to work
hoping funny looks aren't shot her way
for the way she dresses
or shouted at by bearded Salafi men.

Maybe a rare species of bug is unknowingly stepped on
in Easter Island.

Today, i see magic in getting lost on the NYC subway.
I found magic mythology on the beaches of Dahab,
80 miles away from Cairo.
I see magic in the mythologies,
while others live it,
        the daily grind.

*It's all around if you know where to look.
Mar 2014 · 577
Untitled
Brycical Mar 2014
late night street scholars
     smoke green on green trains
sing d-flow & p-funk hymns
with third-eye
         campfire heartspace
effervescent
  enlightenment
of the moon.


All united only
by the time in the most draconian sense
at "2:30am eastern standard time"
       our classroom
be on the 6th train heading uptown.

I saw this happening...

People keep calling me jesus--
     makes me nervous cause
             i'm starting to believe it.

We are all us.
Brycical Mar 2014
Red owl Raoul
is black cat jesus, that's me.
She is a buddha *****
cosmic Kali.
WE BOTH
        LIKE
              PANCAKES!

We be time-benders;
the Moonrise
Kingdom children.

She's the d-flow,
     I'm the P-funk.

We both be seein the future
in-synchronistic
copacetically hieroglyphic kaleidoscope jazz time.

Speakin' cayenne magic,
we make love with eye blinks
and smoke kisses.
just made up a title.
Brycical Mar 2014
A heart deflates
into a circular fire,
burning a tunnel in reality
so a dark train of thought can barrel through.

Hieroglyphic crocodiles swim
into a stream to eat gazelle.

A universe is just the iris
of gods.

I grew up in a cactus hut
that was atop the boogeyman's hat.
'Ol Skullface evaporates like a rippling image
in water...
dreadlocked lightning
bottle sips on the venus flytrap's *******.

Maybe I'm the combination of Bob Marley's dope smoke
& Dali's pipe steam.
That right there
was his psychedelic ego
he o rarely sees.

The Native American sound in my brain
reminds me of beautiful cave paintings
in candle lit screams & moans
echoing.

Bamboo lightning
sword frightening shimmers
in the light.

Tribal war paint vicious sharp drumbeats;
fangs ready for battle,
a head bobbing mystic predicts victory
in the shadows;
glowing.
Ashes from the evening smoke means we've won,
thanks to my brain eye.
Brycical Mar 2014
We dance
an exclusive 2 person naked in the mirror
space drum party dance.

Me w/ my whisky nectar.
She w/ her Rooibush.

OUTSIDE:
we bey to the stars
sending wild—child peace
blessings &
excited gratitude
into the air
along w/ velvet earth herb smoke
the embers of the zoot twirl and dance
un the blue tone morning midnight,
a wild-child firefly.

We take a bow for the deer
watching us in the chill of the night
under a tree.

UPON RETREATING INDOORS:
we vow an early rest—
which melted away
to a cosmic vibrating undulating
wave of cataclysmic ecstasy
into the sacred dimensions of dream realms
our light shines & combines
star bodies
closer to the whole
holiness
raining kisses
upon necks
& *******
with claps of thunder tongues
and lightning hands.
The date in the title is the start of Chinese New Year 2014
Mar 2014 · 850
(RE)njoying The Journey
Brycical Mar 2014
We inhale words of worlds of air
making us part of a whole far greater
than we know to fathom.

Worlds of sensuous phantasmic
shadows & burning lights brighter than a
blinding rainbow ignites

our beating green chakra, boiling our
red & white blood, vibrating all of the
steaming sinews of blue

veins around warm sunset pink flesh as--
all colors engulf our indigo minds
tightening like a slingshot cannon swiftly erupts zipping electricity up
our spines like underwater geysers!
Bubbling bubbly bouncing eyes roll back in a moan explosion hurling us into dimensions of the pulsing, clawing, drenched & serene waters of
                           (((((((((one love united universe)))))))))
As we travel and float back slowly...
to this planet, there is a burning,
like a new skill learning crystallized curvy fire dancing
with earth horned goat rhythm in that way down underground river.
Mar 2014 · 1.1k
Copacetic Living Poetry
Brycical Mar 2014
Sometimes she smells like roses and coconuts...

Everyday I bow to the eons and ions and atoms
within and surrounding her
for guiding me to the reality of which I enjoy being inside.

My life wasn't meant to be boxed into a 9-5 soul-******* vacuum office cube
trying to convince folks to buy bread with "homemade flavor" or fizzy brown corn syrup. That's how alcoholics are born.  

My living spirit is is supposed to play
like my inner child
at 2am smoking something
and waving to stars that might be spaceships
and singing songs to the silver moon.
I have to live like poetry in order to write.
Maybe not drink like poetry...
let's just say my time in Atlanta
might put Dylan & Edgar to shame.  

And she allows us to love like poetry,
our minds travel to soothing lands
where words mean nothing
and the only way to communicate is through sacred azure moans
of hyper-iridescent effervescent ecstasy.
That's what the truth sounds like.

I'm unchained,
back into the wild of myself,
unfettered from the confines
of a story or musical piece,
instead allowing my self and body
let the words and music play & write through me
like some fleshy electric with a hint of indigo flute fountain pen
so that others may know this glorious living that is poetry.
Brycical Feb 2014
The time’s may have changed,
days aged our bodies
but you are still wholly
yourself, only more
magnanimously
magical, which says
something, because
your oeuvre was such
already.

An aged wine of light
shining like sacred
grapes made of quartz in
the field’s center.
I remember when
you guided me to
the fox. I can still
remember when you
were sprouting—

sacred knowledge to
me in the back of
the school bus. But now…
dots are connecting,
I’m remembering
my fire ether
name. Your knowledge had  
pollinated me—
sure took time

to take root, and ferment,
but now it is
a very good year.  
It’s time to uncork!
A party army
awaits, clad in such
an iridescent
armor armed only
with <3 - shaped  fire

on torches, ready
to burn down rotten
rickety aged
bridges built of dead
green ink-stained wood, all
converging on a
barren cliff so we
may ignite skies and
shine in darkness.
Wrote this a month ago, not sure why I haven't shared it yet.

Was inspired after visiting the newfound family of possibly my oldest friend whom I still share limited contact. How limited? We haven't spoken save for a very brief phone call in almost 9 years.
Dec 2013 · 2.8k
Medicine
Brycical Dec 2013
If laughter is the best medicine
then this explains why there are so many unhealthy people.
Too many people got the SAD's Condition;
                 It arrives usually within 2-4 weeks of compromising one's inner child after crushing up      
                 some sparkly dreams and flushing them in the *******.

                                        Symptoms include:
                1) A black-hole bitter disposition
                 2) Snapping at little things like having to wait 5 in a checkout line
                    or making dramatic sighs after repeating a question a few times.
               3) Reminiscing about terrible things and never forgiving and  
                   letting  go, like having your mom sign your life away to a cult or  
                   being told that your dear sweet Aunt who helped raise you kept
                   looking for you in the hospital every time your name was called
                   even though you never saw her because your family thought it  
                   best you kept your distance or hearing the morose silence of a
                   stillborn newborn.
                4) Finding your serenity at the bottom of a bar room floor inside a
                   gin bottle.
                5) Finding your solace in a married woman who eats all kinds
                    of colorful shaped pills for breakfast.
  
                                      


And if a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down,
how much can you add before the medicine loses its flavor?

They say truth is bitter,
yet I find that hard to believe
considering it feels so good to say.
It's like a cinnamon peppermint flavor on the tongue
with an aftertaste of jalapeno tears.

Maybe I'm so used to the processed hydrogenated extra sugar kind
that's why I go right for the pure hard stuff,
and maybe that's why a laugh so much.  
Maybe that's why people consider me a cuckoo fool....
I wrote this poem whilst in my travels through Egypt, but only found this poem recently, amongst some scraps cleaning up and reorganizing.
Dec 2013 · 1.1k
Play
Brycical Dec 2013
As our minds buzz and synchronize,
        the energy ripples forth from
the trinity hearts of light ignite--
spinning
       turning-twirling
............burning
and our electric lighting fingers
flick with fleeting umbilical ember connection....
        our universe expands,
    our higher nature god self is revealed
in these moments,
we see the shaman animals and light lives
of ancient futures in our third eye galaxies
              melting fallacies like ego chains
and self-degradation poison......
      filling ourselves full of ONE,
eyes locked, bodies tuned, minds reading
realms opening.....
             realms burning
          life......life consciousness consciously burning.....
     burning to the moon, cooling in the sun......
          lounging lazily by the cherry blossom tree...
                                          <3
Brycical Dec 2013
Scraggly curl hair bounces in the air
wagging with whisky eyes breezy pleasing the eclectic electric hectic now mind
like finding a papaya inside an oyster
battery powered like a pomegranate passionfruit flower growing and glowing
around my trinity heart with the noise of a sphere's galactic ******!

Crystal Citrine Mountains provide water fountains of sunlight
as so tye-dye t-shirt hip-cat hippos smokin' coconut shisha bathe in barrels
of bourbon.
Lion snakes spit words of worlds hurling nebulous timeline's spiraling
and crashing and splashing baptism ripples together painting Pollack Splatters
with the aroma of Byrd Jazz Jam on rye-whisky bread.

Fractal Berries served by the Far Out Faerrie Ferryman Skeletan with bejeweled emerald eyes
winks while I read in the reeds panting in pan-flutes while water rabbits scamper
into clay enclaves to bathe in pinecone designed sand-tubs.

The hieroglyphic phoenix twists and skip-scats neon green vinyl
turning the wind inside out to x-ray flames of fireworks.
Dec 2013 · 1.3k
Middle
Brycical Dec 2013
There's a dark wolf
behind my heart--
licking chops
ready to feast on the future
and guzzle the night nectar of what will be.
His smokey wings agape,
drawn to fly in to the moon's uvula.
The ash black fur smells of burnt strawberries.

A pale bobcat spectre leans
behind my mind...
smells like a gin bath...
       looks over its shoulder
longingly gazing into the murk-muck,
     that is.... the past.
Lavender eyes, and patterns of dirt
     on its sopping cold fur.

And here I am,
between the two...
a silent meditative fox
under the cherry blossom,
the breezy moment twirls the desert red fur,
nature's hum drums and strums the heart
as it grows into a lotus reaching for the  burning sun.
Dec 2013 · 2.1k
Panther and Fox
Brycical Dec 2013
Buzzing emerald jungle swoons—
           hip kitty soul eyes embrace the red wanderer.
It’s a tactical chess game,
        both aware of the other’s presence.

Nebulous black perched in shadows,
     desert red fool skips like a rock.
          when eyes eclipse each other
an electric hummmmmmm buzzes
as their hearts start glowing like a peridot ember
the wind whizzes and twists
through their perfect curly hirsute
           rushing luscious aurora energy pulsing
           to and fro like giddy hearts exchanging notes in class…
Their blurry bodies bound forward
    fox scorching ground while panther burns branches
        lightning leg movements paws calls thunder
          sun red hot fuzz lunges up
           midnight cool moon goddess panther slams down  
            colors collide and crash and cling and clap
            spines ignited in tye-dye holographic rainbows
their claws singe each other’s skin
their eyes swirl black holes
holy howls and breath coalesce
as one love
as one sight,
all encompassing
mythical tail told to all
through campfire gypsies and artists canvas
panting the dancing fox and panther
the bhavacakka.
Nov 2013 · 12.9k
A Surreal Picnic with You
Brycical Nov 2013
Time flies like a baby fruit fly to a banana
buzzing through a brand new day through the fractal lakes
cleansing my body in peppermint amethyst vibrations
as the gyrations of the water ripple and drip down my back and waist
tickling the skin into submission--
I'm on a love mission feeling the splish-splash nefelibata mind
within my glowing gold-hazel eyes as I realize my potential.
The world isn't simply my oyster
my voice can make a difference
if I wish and believe me I've kissed Aladdin's lamp
but my mind is filled with vagary so I plant the seeds
in my magic garden and watch them grow--
burst through the ground and glowing
some like emerald embers
and others like electric chalcopyrite
as my third-eye shines and pops calico corn
crackling in the back the ideas simmer on the grill
near the chilled ZuZu Juju honeydew wine
while the electric blue hip panther cat croons
away on her guitar in ancient star languages saeng
when we were all just haranguing through the ONE-light
all bright sun's right to shine a vine of fire rays
into our future past selves
now aligned with burning designs of moons, suns and AUMS.
The animal pixie band manipulates the sounds around us--
the cicadas sing a lotus chorus while the tiger-painted rabbits rapidly
strum rainbow hieroglyphs on their magic harps
while the jazz sax racoons all dressed in jasper suede jackets
and backwards newsboy caps
play a theta vibration so meditatively
we dance in digambara dream catcher trance
of enhanced meraki enchanted atoms
and cells boiling in passionate blood.

After all the eating and dancing we play in the clay mud
recreating our animal forms and budding faces blooming
and swooning as our winged auras sling us
into the dusk sky
to sway and zoom in the rain.
later we enter Father Sky's cloud castle
for a peaceful night curled up by the azurite lightning fireplace
roasting marmalade maple marshmallows
with those rasta angel fellows token
on the diviner's sage sippin mugwort tea.
And as we third eye-gaze into and through each other
seeing our past and future time tubes
aligning into a sacred golden flower sphere,
we giggle like silly fox children
we've forgotten hours have left our pockets
cause to us it only seems like seconds have gone by...
Nov 2013 · 952
Visions While We Sleep
Brycical Nov 2013
As the mind grows weary
in the plum void darkness
a hand twiddles and bends the
vibrations around your
body into a swirling
spiral, hazy lazy magic spinning
sound fog brushing and breezing
around your mind massaging your
brain and igniting a slow pulse
like an ember kissing a flame
in your chest as the warmth  winds
around your body like the ripple of
an opal Venus choral dropped in lava
lasciviously  lounging in your eyes
as if a phoenix sang an ode in the vast intersection
of time and space colliding together
to make a gravity that slowly compels you into the
wormhole of your self--
the door to many things and realms craving to be opened
if just to get some fresh, rain embraced air...
the smile says everything.

You're right, I agree.
We should sleep on the hammock by the howlite beach
and fall asleep as the indigo water lulls us to sleep.
Brycical Oct 2013
electric ***** static shocks jump starts the heart into hyperspace pumping blood into the veins of time folding inside and outside and on top of each other like a nebulous star splash comet tail clashes in a warm hug we glow like embers in ashes......

warmth spreads like a slug of whisky in the chest, nothing is expected except it is, mind's eyes multiply like a disco argus tree sees all spheres and dimensions slowing and glowing like aurora auras in dawn smiles like the hieroglyphic clouds we graffiti all over cause we just wanna have some fun!

Aw man, I'm not done. We paint the sky to make it rain good vibrations drinking aqua patience and cheshire cat laughter tartlets I'm ecstatic to be part of this ecosystem with a unjumbled mind flying high in the all-ness of the AUM ONE. Cause we all one, and that's Awe-some. A wonderful warm place with All sons daughters mothers fathers brothers sisters sinners, just humons, 2gether, 1AUM makes words redundant.
Oct 2013 · 1.5k
It Needs to be Said
Brycical Oct 2013
Now I lay me down to sleep
ready for my soul to dream,
but it's hard to rest when I hear
everyone singing the Tomorrow Blues Lullaby.
My parents sing "We're just waiting for retirement,"
My 9 to 5 friends sing "I'm living for the weekend"
a few of them sing "I'm looking forward to football"
my brother sings "I'm looking forward to Breaking Bad"
and the banks sing "Save for today so you can live for tomorrow."

I'm not too fond of this song,
it makes my heart race, my face twitch and my breath shallow cold.
I can't fathom living to be old with mountains of folded quid and clothes
dinning on modified tomato corn sandwiches inhaling CO2
and watching housewives on the tube.

I dream of living near a babbling stream in the woods, or atop a quiet mountain,
something peaceful and away from it all.
But the elder Generation X and baby boomers
like my parents tell me I've got to pay my dues,
they tell my Generation Y peers and I are spoiled and entitled
with more gadgets and toys disturbing the system
cause we all think we deserve the world cause we've been taught "you're all special."

These bitter, harsh notes in the lullaby
keep me awake; like a chord-clashing siren song
causing heartache and migraines.
I prefer passive words but this burning breath
ruptures my throat and scalds my veins
smoke rising and flames dance along my tongue
as these choking words burst forth;

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry we're not blindly walking down the same roads
like the days of old sending loved ones overseas as soldiers in Afghanistan or Iraq
killing each other instead of building our own path.
I'm sorry we're staying awake instead of "living the dream"
in a conveyor belt system of school-job-live-die that you built for us.  
I'm sorry we're leery of trusting banks and the invisible electric money
you helped "print."

But most importantly, I'm sorry
you're upset. You have every right to be.
You're starting to see what you build holds no interest for them or me.
We're building another ride, one where we can be free and one with everything.
So go on, call us names,
tell us we're not special despite teaching us we are.
While you're trying to push forward in housing, pharmaceuticals and gas
we're starting to wake up  from this dream to see
starving children and diseases yet to be cured
all the while seeing what we've learned from you
is just absurd and untrue.
THIS HURTS US TOO.
We know so much sweaty, sleepless and stressful hours
were put into this path, but at some point
will you realize it's going in the wrong direction?
Oct 2013 · 1.5k
Here; We Remember
Brycical Oct 2013
in this blue sphere
dancing twisty crimson foxtrots
in pumpkin cream lightflower gardens
where incandescent rose quartz chrysanthemums bloom too.

We speak indigo vibrations
as our hearts glow emerald green
like a single flame illuminates a cave.

Upon an embrace,
bathed in foamy white light
floating away in theta waves
in an azurite lightning whisky bottle.

We go with our FLOW.
inspired by a dream from Seymour
Brycical Oct 2013
Todd Totally Toad

Finger Smell McGee

E-I-E-I *******

Captain Sally Potato

Blackhole Sound *****

The Glass Candy Imagination Man

Dew Snot

One-Eyed Duce Leg of the Cement Dimension

The Guy Who Makes Sailors, Pirates and Fisherprice men shake their Buoy.

The Saccharine Snake of Compatibility

Yeti Jenny ******

Johnny Loch Ness **** Deck.

Chicken ***** McGillicutty

Blanket Face

Rev. 3D Trigonometry

The Little Pistachio ****.

The Killer Doll That Only Exists in My Alternate Universe's Self's Imagination.
Sep 2013 · 1.4k
You are hollowed ground.
Brycical Sep 2013
I don't recall where in the bible it says
Love thy neighbor, unless they are...
or
Do unto others as you would have them
do unto you, unless...


Of course, if you're quoting bible verse
or any form of religious doctrine
you're in a lot of trouble anyway!
These words tend to contradict themselves.

That, and you're quoting a book,
not your soul.
Maybe some of your soul
is in those sacred pages,
but definitely not all.
And why are you scouring books
trying to learn how to live your life?

The answers aren't in there anyway,
at least not whole ones.

The answers are in you!
God is you! You are god!
You are created from particles that inhabit the universe!
You are the universe!
YOU ARE NATURE!
YOU ARE ALL!

All the answers are in you,
just have to know where to look.
Just have to remember,
just have to remember
just have to remember...

just have to remember
we are god, the universal ONE
creators of our own habitats
& sustaining celestial universes of friends and family.
Like the universal ONE
we make and create life
from ****** cosmic big bang howls hurling white rock into feminine space only for a star child to be born over time.
Billions of lives reside & crawl within skin walls, cavernous intestines & ride on vein roads controlled by the omnipotent electrical awareness called the ONE brain & son mind.

Each new friendship & connection is its own universe and some expand too quickly fizzling out with a deflated echo of "It's not you, it's me," and returned DVD's
while others cultivate and grow gradually sustaining a millenia lifetime of cafune, pumpkin pancakes in bed, Facebook photos and winks.

We are the ONE where all the answers reside,
just need to have the heart to look inside
to find your higher calling is to honor thyself
as you would the univer-SOUL ONE.
Sep 2013 · 1.8k
efjkn jkrveejkn w epoch
Brycical Sep 2013
Face in midnight
      morning
like a fortune tellers crystal soul
sparkles forth from her flow--
           dragonfly wings
                    aglow,
stories float off the tongues
from celestial waves
of knowledge books only
         seen in etherial spaces
sacred      words      drip
                  from
our pens & fingers--
energy courses gallops
from cherry blossom lives to present
we remember,
we tend to flames
throw names
and pains
& grains into the eyes
of fire,
heal with liquid life,
float toward the light of the moon
soon
        one mind
       doors
                 red
                 black
                 & pine
rocks silently slowly unwinding
time toward consciousness nature love brain
a warm Kali embrace
a chilly Shiva cleanse..... ......... . ........... ..   ......... ...   ....... .... ..... .....
Sep 2013 · 1.2k
Midnight: Lunar Meditation
Brycical Sep 2013
Dreams bleed out
of my eyes--
my self pulled out
from flesh.

Crickets howl,
silent ***** purple wind sits
atop the hill.
Waves meander to dark horizons.

I'm anchored by my emerald heart.

The world turns
I am still
bodies move
I am still
small grain sands blow
I am stil
The moon calls me
and I am still.

So many questions await
in the gray foamy splashes,
future's scattered ashes
and pieces of land swallowed
I shall never know!
So many lives out there
and twinkling echoes reflect in the dark water.
Dharma travelers and gypsy mavericks
stain the waves of future and past.
All the answers swim out there--
stories and realms unheard
lurk in the briny bubbling deep.

I'd like to simply feel the water between my toes,
sleep in the sand with a fiery dream fox
and a bottle of red time wine from Dionysus Lair
as we slowly fizzle and puddle into the late-night grains
slowly being washed away  into the picturesque dark ocean liquid.

But all the answers lay in waiting,
in ruin,
sinking, drowning
and rusting  in the refreshing chill waters.......
Brycical Sep 2013
chilly morning wind awakens my skin
             her mystical electric blue cat
   dances in the daylight
me green fox spirit yogas on the hill
    dilly-dallying licking air droplets
dreaming of a sacred light,
the mirror meadow is a sphere of reflection,
      A rasta moose and a few gnostic bunnies sit in a drum circle
hashing and workin out a rhythm for the dawn....
Bebop bear bares it's soul in the lapis lake,
      meditating on his thankful Mother Nature and her blacklight berry provisions,
Technicolor roses nuzzle together by the water,
          velvet vines hug willow trees created of patched fabric
as prink energy embraces the wise tai-chi eagles
      atop the ruby mountains.
Serene gardens brush away dirt blankets
        fire flowers,
  light flowers
lilac compassion illuminate the shade
autumn leaves of time flutter toward sky horizons ......
watercolored wickiups
          and spray-paint thipis rest closeby
as the timeline continues to be sewn.
Brycical Sep 2013
For years I've been trying to write
something that would cause the earth to shake--
maybe even slightly tip it off its axis.
Not because it possesses any eloquent grandeur
with words like "cataclysm" or "surreptitious"
nor due to any celeb-ritory status
that may befall my unkempt and ghostly pale person.

                      I just want people to think!

From the moment most of us
are pushed from our mother's dark, watery womb
it's like we're given a hardhat and a pick,
then told to find some gold in the mine
because if you want to keep working in the mine
you have to pay
and then as we try to explain that we're uneducated about mining
because we were just birthed we are told not to worry
because there are teachers who will educate us about the mine
and every so many days we're tested on what we learned about the mine
all the while being told to forget not about the gold in the mine
and sometimes we get a little tired or bored of looking for gold
so we're given a book to read about some guy named Mr. Brahmallah Siddhartahweh Christ
along with a few cigarettes, beer and lunch meat to relax
for a few minutes before it's time to get back to work to look for gold in the mine
to pay to look for gold in the mine
and lord help you if you can't pay to work in the mine because you need to work in the mine
to work in the mine.

                                                      Confused?­ That's the point...
Now, the metaphor above is a crude illustration
of what I'm talking about,
but I have confidence you understand what's gnawing at me,
AND what should be at you too.

                     Where is there time to think??

Even in scientific and philosophical occupations
there isn't much thinking these days.
Many take science as law
the same way extreme, right wingers from any religion
take their "religious doctrine" as law.
Our politics, technology and even reading is polluted
with derision and division into different schools of thought
from a Conservative Team Edward Apple supporting Griffendor Christian
to a Liberal Hufflepuff PC using Team Jacob Buddhist.
Now I understand why all these new agers
keep referencing The Matrix.

                           WHAT IS REAL!?
That must be a decent explanation as why people go insane;
suffocating on all the weighty labels
forcefully pinned to their soul.

And yet...
more people, like me,
are desperately clawing away at these labels,
attempting to find a little fresh air,
perhaps filled with the smell of paint,
graphite, charcoal, clay, **** and natural body pheromones
while sounds of music, chanting, cheers, sobbing, silence, giggling and *******
echo in the breathing room
as we feel the grass beneath our feet, wind matriculating through our hair, another warm and loving body embracing ours with cool water trickling down our backs...
People like me
wishing to be metaphorically, figuratively, theologically and psychologically digambara  
subconsciously evolving from sadhu to avadhuta
          preaching anekantavada
           while simultaneously revealing it all stems from ONE!

But...
many of us are caught in a dilemma best expressed by E.B. White:

[Arising] in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world, [making] it hard to plan the day.

These days, to the masses working in the mine,
if you're trying to improve the world you're a kook or a traitor,
just ask the SnowMannings.
If you try enjoying the world you're labeled lazy.
We all just want to be       FREE!!

Of course, Bill Hicks once said,
If you think you're free, trying going somewhere without ******* money.  

And when you THINK about that,
you start to get confused, right?
Maybe your head starts to hurt, right?
Because when you THINK about that,
and all the supposed enlightened people
from Siddhārtha Gautama who resigned from his royal trappings
to Yeshua HaNotzri who renounced material possessions with a needle
while the passive warrior Mahatma Gandhi thought western civilization a good idea.

Why are most children discouraged from being artists, farmers and the next far out thinkers?
Because      there’s        no          money        in         ­ it!  
Again, we’re back in the mine looking for gold.
But what would happen if you stopped?
What would happen if you got in the mine cart and said “**** it,”
then went careening down the shaft,
whirling and twirling faster and faster enjoying the ride!

But now I’m positioned in another quandary;
                       SOLUTIONS!  

While people like myself may have a few ideas
I think they are impossible to share at the moment
Because the majority of the population is too lazy
and complacent to do anything.
First we need to awaken!
First we have to get mad like Howard Beale!
We have to collectively reject the current frequency
and do like Tim Leary where we “turn on, tune in and drop out.”

Ok,
Let’s take five,
maybe more.
And when we reunite
let’s hash out some solutions,
**** out what does and doesn’t work.
If you like this, please share.
Brycical Sep 2013
Forward minds rewind-- loose from time's spider web
meeting at the cherry blossom tree, a cool winter's breeze rustles leaves.  
She say the dominoes begun to fall,
we agree to meet again, breadcrumbs in hand.

Meeting at the cherry blossom tree, a cool summer's breeze rustles leaves--
the dawns of many pass; thousands of seasons change.
We agree to meet again, breadcrumbs in hand;
together, planning an escape from our sacred safe-haven cave.

The dawns of many pass; thousands of seasons change...
still waiting on others to awaken and meet at the ancient table--
together, planning an escape from our sacred safe-haven cave
re-membering ageless words, to awaken throngs from their zombie-like state.  

Still waiting on others to awaken and meet at the ancient table--
you, having doubts, I, lacking a confident self until
re-membered ageless words, to awaken throngs from their zombie-like state.  
Love vibrations shake all of the wrong foundations loose.

You, having doubts, I, lacking a confident self until
forward minds rewind-- loose from time's spider web.
Love vibrations shake all of the wrong foundations loose--
you say *the dominoes begun to fall.
Brycical Sep 2013
She say
         drop the bass

And boom,
like that--
       sitting inside the room
harmonica blues breath smokey tunes
of 'ol trickster death burn a hole through the windows
in the shape of a blinking eye--
mischievous snake smile>>
              cat's eye grinning rhythm spinning around
       and around
           the room with
       spray-paint tagging walls
               and doors and inside drawers

black cat scratches records reckoning the two hip-leopards encircling each other-

ready to pounce, ready to bounce,
wild eye nature heartbeats take control,
               mind off, skin folded on the floor--
                          encircling,
dance spirals 'round the fire in our sun-sploding hearts
hand in hand eyes locked claws frock backs, jaws aghast wide fangs smile with lavender delight as ONE LIGHT builds, ONE LIGHT BRIGHTS glowing inside mind's eyes psych-ed-el-lick;
a song in unison to ONE time, one SPACE ONE MIND ONE
        ONE      
      ONE
zero......
FOX FIRE.
A response to Scarlett Seymour's "to travelers row and holes unclosed," with a little help from the psychedelic sensi herself.

Said poem can be found here..... http://hellopoetry.com/poem/to-travelers-row-and-holes-unclosed/
Brycical Sep 2013
We are the change we are searching for. It's no surprise we're having a hard time finding it,
like a trick question the answer's inside.

Some, like me have high expectations we're trying to erase
because they limit the places our minds can go.

And we know it's not to race to conclusions or exclude any info but
like a kid on Christmas our impatience can sometimes take hold. But it's ok, we're humon.

We are youth in revolt of the old ways that are clearly keeping us chained
to the ground like slaves to didactic socio-political religious segregation.

And like me, sometimes we forget that change brings growing pains.
Do you know how much force it takes for a flower to sprout through pavement?

We are growing everyday, that's scary to some, leaving many parents to wonder
why their children aren't driving on the roads they paid to pave and ride on.

It's because WE have our heads higher, in the sky and beyond.
Roads are antiquated when you can fly--dropping the gas pump for light trying for a brighter future with nature as a guide.

Don't get me wrong, it's a long flight and there's going to be lonely low dark parts in the timeline but I find some comfort in knowing I'm going with my own flow on my own ride and no one elses cause then I'm not myself which is where all our pride should lie.

Not on material & wealth, but health, body and mind.
I didn't write this per-say. It's complicated. If you're curious, ask.
Brycical Sep 2013
Where do forgotten stories lay?
Perhaps a quiet, bleak graveyard with blank graves
as nobody sings the words from these pages nor
nourishes the barren brown dead grass ground with any praise.

What happens to a love once extinguished?
A self-sustaining universe expanded so much
all the stars snuffed and smoldered--life choked out
as once burning heat now colder than the dark side of a glacial moon
echoes in a vast dark void of blankness.

Can two diametrically opposed beliefs exist in the same room?
Or does bloodshed have to follow
because mind-numbing decibel blasting arguments
turn both mad with bloodlust rage until the one stabbed least is left standing?

Is it better for people to give a **** or clean one up?

Where's the best place to visit for people
who are ******* fed up with the bureaucratic
red-tape dotted line terms of usage world
but don't give a ****?

What's the difference between sports and Hollywood?

What happens to the truth when we've told a lie?
Is it like a battered and bruised wife,
bleeding from the nose with ripped hair follicles on the ground
or does it simply drink away the abandonment  on the rocks to forget?
Aug 2013 · 1.6k
In Dahab, Excess is Easy,
Brycical Aug 2013
but that could be said of anywhere.
However, some places
seem to have hypnotic hips and easy eyes
with a mischevious, seductive scarab grin.
Like magic, it pulls me in.
Here, labels like good or bad are trite,  
there is only this magnetic whirling
energy culling myself and others inside
simply because we picked up the phone and showed up.

But now it's our responsibility to find balance
amidst serene listless apathy on the beach
and party hardy into the midnight arty energy scene jack & coke down the rabbit hole we go.

Some Bedouins say Dahab means "time  goes,"
which has me convinced Moses and his folks weren't lost
in terms of location but lost when it relates to time,
trying to find a middle path
between excess and sloth
in this south Sinai town.


Yes, not two but three schools of thought,
forming a triangle in this hypnotizing spiral;
two points of excess and one of balance!
All three balance each other,
and it's hell trying to stay in the center of this eye
of this metaphorical storm of enlightenment.
Naturally, gravitational forces pull some to the
gray matter island headspace of echoed sins
and carnivorous lascivious pandemonium.  
Not everyone will find what they seek on the warm beaches here,
or the raving, bubble foam dance parties in strobe light nights.
That's just the way it is;
there's not enough room for everyone in the center.

And this is where we learn to accept ones place,
because only then can we move on to another plane,
on another beach with more to learn and some to teach.
Brycical Aug 2013
If you watch closely,
even in stillness
some part of him is always moving,
a foot tapping,
fingers drumming--
eyes darting
mouth chatting...
his words spiral:

*Everything has a frequency,
you--me, he--she and even them over there.
Naturally,
some frequencies attract others
and we call that masculine and feminine energy.
Some try to label it and say
women focus on the details while men see things from an outside objective.
But others say the exact opposite
which in turn brings balance
which shows everything is nothing and nothing is everything.

In this way, life is confusing, which makes sense.

But you can't deny the frequency.
It goes beyond simply male and female, fish, rock, tree and so forth and so on and so on.
Every area has it's own sound, it's own vibe--
this core sound matches everything about that place,
from the buildings to religion.
Languages in each area have its own rhythm
to match the tone.
India and that area has the AUM,
Middle East has the prayer,
Asia has it's own thing and so forth and so on and so on.

You cannot stop hearing it once you do.  
We are connected through this.
That's why speaking isn't necessary
to connect with others. It's helpful,
but unnecessary.
Connection is when
gazes synchronize across the bar,
CHEERS
even when you can 'feel' someone watching
CHEERS
or there's a familiarity with someone you just met
CHEERS
or when a person stirs something inside
you are unable to not feel your soul flutter
or in your case, write things down.
Aug 2013 · 1.1k
To Ras Abu Galum
Brycical Aug 2013
THE TRECK

Step-
      step-
          step

Walking through
orange mountains--
a journey toward
the blue hole,
like shamans through a desert--
except we have beer.

never loosing our sight
of the sea,
I swear, every step
makes the water glow a more magificent blue
as the wind travels through every rock.

Step-
      step-
          step

One of the electric men
from the rocks whispers
through a gust
to trust the path ahead of me.
I take a swig of beer.

Step-
      step-
          step
                              ­                                    **ARRIVAL and RELAXING

                                              
                                                               Subdued
                                                         ­      Subtle
                                                    ­           Serene duet
                                                               between Nephthys and Nuit lulls us
                                                               to rest after a feast of honey tahina
                                                          ­     in a hut with the words "Peace City"
                                                           ­     painted over the kitchen.

                                                               ­                            Silent
                              ­                                                                 ­   Soothing                                            
         ­                                                                 ­                           Solace      
                                                                                  
                                                                                        wondering
                                                  ­                                if Moses was really lost
                                               in a place many might consider  paradise.

                                                               ­                             Saline
                             ­                                                               Sa­phire
                                                      Soul blood pours from mother's veins--
                                                         ­       Dahab/Sinai is a major artery
                                                          ­      of civilization creation, a sacred
                                                          ­     space for those seeking to unplug.
Aug 2013 · 1.8k
Homage to Bob Dahab
Brycical Aug 2013
A Brittish psychedelic
Benjamin Button.

Maverick explorer
54 years young.

A groovy dude connected to Dahab since the 70's.
Sure doesn't hurt he knows the folks who own the land.

A kindly herb surgeon, the man knows how
to live, give and roll a spliff.

Enjoyed your company
swapping stories and smokes.

Keep on,
hang loose
and be cool.
Aug 2013 · 908
Awakening on the Beach
Brycical Aug 2013
Afternoon waves splash
across the rocks--

kshhhhhhhhhh,
kshhhhhhhhhh...

Several green Stella's glisten
in the shade,--

kshhhhhhhhhh,
kshhhhhhhhhh...

Soothing wind spins around in my hair,
the sound dances off the waves--

whhhhhhhhhhh kshhh,
whhhhhhhhhhh kshhhhhhh...

My open eyes gaze
into the sapphire-lapis sea--

whhhhhhhhhhh kshhh,
whhhhhhhhhhh kshhhhhhh...

Time is still,
only the water is moving.

*kshhhhhhhhhhhh.....
Aug 2013 · 1.6k
Majdhb on the Beach
Brycical Aug 2013
Rolling
           down
             the rabbit
                hole--
under the stars
      s w a y i n g
like shisha smoke
gypsy dancing hips sway lips smile wide
         sound
       sight light taste all one
echoes swirl around we twirl
         like whirling dervish
leaving our bodies--
leaving the tube
joining each other's saltwater skin
bathing in
       our conscious one
       our conscious AUM
as the midnight sapphire ocean's white foam splashes over
every ONE of us.
The shooting stars dance with us--
the air dances             with us
the water dances        with us
Jack & coke's dance inside us
between our toes
the sand dances        with us
the hash dances        with us
as we are
just being
JUST BEING!
LIVING!
Brycical Aug 2013
Never sits still unless
he's passed out on the floor,
playful smile hides wise eyes
as his beard talks to us
after communion with a bottle of Jack
and rolling down the rabbit hole:

*We have been going before the beginning
It's not what you know but how you apply it
Ancient knowledge is knowledge now
We follow what is right for us

Everything was a miracle once

When **** is happening, it's ****
it's only not **** once it's happened already.

Everything is general,
what we do is specific.

We're fighting to get past so many archetypes and realities:
nature vs. nurture
fight vs. flight
yin vs. yang
Right vs. left
male vs. female
analytical vs. emotional
visual vs. verbal  
majority vs. minority
experience vs. innocence

What's the point of distance
when you can see yourself on another plane of existence
and not simply see yourself consciously?

When you see yourself, who are you?
You know who you are because when you ask the universe
it will arrive in time!
Brycical Aug 2013
It seems like this place has a certain pull, it's bringing people here. What's attracting so many?

*Because they can hear the silence
Aug 2013 · 1.2k
Dahab: First Impression
Brycical Aug 2013
Water; the pure blood
of the earth tickles the rocky shores,
liquid congregation on the beach.
Race, religion and creed are forgotten
on the beaches of Dahab.

People are living,
an empty police station devoid
of lawmen--
they're swimming with people in the blood of the earth
on the beaches of Dahab.

Raggae and Spanish music waft
in the **** and hashish scented air,
as the people cool in the blood of the earth,
on the beaches of Dahab.

Living free and open,
far from the religious obligations and hungry lust stares in Cairo
people are tanning, laughing, drinking, being
in the blood of the earth,
on the beaches of Dahab.
Jul 2013 · 1.4k
Madds Meditation
Brycical Jul 2013
They found us
walking on shadows
and spitting out dada pictures
of electric dinosaurs in plaid top-hats
licking the third eye of an incandescent sacred bird.
        We were burning up
   so much creative juice
              into laughing gas
           couldn't help but **** on a water bottle
                   as if it were the ***
           of a whale swimming in the arctic
                           simply
          for a few moments of relief.

i thought you looked like a razor--
ready to slit the wrists of the king suit
until i rembered this was deja-vu,
suggesting you could grow wings if you let life guide us.
                   We flew into purple dawn,  
                           a little drunk.
curiouser and curiouser, eh Madeline?
Brycical Jul 2013
Sitting inside a cloud of shisha--
with subtle hints of strawberry shimmying
through the midnight moonlight,
the incandescent embers
radiate from their core
forming ancient runic shapes
reminding me of a time beyond the concept of before....

when elders spoke with ashes in their words
traveling to worlds within looking through
the windows to each other's souls
where the rhythm of a heartbeat
and the melody of breathing cacophonously echos
through our gray matter canyons.
A time when millennia passed by in milliseconds
as everyone danced like a flame grinding on a candle wick
wailing with ecstasy--
every bead of sweat slithering from head to feet
arousing like a maddening kundalini explosion--
a honey-like nectar glowing throughout our body
pouring out of us brilliantly brighter than any white-hot sun!

I think
this might be a reason for my fascination
when it comes to inhaling fire--
despite my earth-natured tendencies
I'm still hypnotized by the first gift to mankind;
light.
Jul 2013 · 1.9k
On the Other Side
Brycical Jul 2013
HUGE W A L L S
     overlook
         the
       future....

timeline tunnels blocked--
Pink Floyd wasn;t kidding
         about THE W A L L S....

But a HUGE hug hangs
     the stone mental blockade
            on the gallows under a crescent moon

       while gypsies cheer with tambourines and  
                     artists draw with the ashes from their cigarettes
                            and
                      ­writers jot down the joyous carnival mood between shots

Chinese lanterns and Ramadan Fanous
             illuminate the b r i d g es
                      brrrrrrrrighter
                                 iridescence and
                                      swinging
              ­                 with misfits dripping anticipation
                      spinning sufis swaying
                                         to see the mural landscape opposite  THE W A L L S.
Thanks for the word Asma :)
Jul 2013 · 729
smile-land
Brycical Jul 2013
(+) vibrations buzzzzzzzz
                    lifting
  mouths        &           spirits

         r              ning
d            ow                      

                    out  ­                the (-)



                                                          ­ i  n   g
matriculating curves t w i s t
              quickly churning
                         bending like   w
                                                      a
       ­                                            t
                                                     e
                                                  r
                                    in a whirlpool
                                        with/ou t    grrrravity
                                                 as we sail on the stream of consciousness
                              to another realm
                                     inside ourselves
                                                    on our rainbow brain boat visiting
                                           tye-dye twilight night skies
                                                giggling wind PLAYING with
                                      our hair beginning to laugh
                                   like cats after discovering chicken it the fridge.
                         We sing Hendrix
                                 Joplin
                          Morrison
                     Floyd
                Lennon
         and Shankar
all the way to the shore
of the island.
Thanks for the word Sarah. :)
Brycical Jul 2013
Thanks for the gift you left at the front door--
I wept cause I figured you left for good
'till I opened the box in horror
to find a zombie black mamba instead of my heart.

Thanks for the living dead snake
constricting around my brain
making me think of nothing but you
eschewing daily life.
The venom takes away my appetite--
the sun is too bright and sunny
so I stay inside my room filled with flies
writing about the time you left this
living dead snake instead of my heart.

It keeps squeezing and gnawing--
it's venom fills me with haunting memories
of the times I didn't see you slowly pulling away--
hugs stiffened
your kisses listless
and eyes drowning
while the sound of your voice sings disinterest.

Luckily you gave to me
a zombie black mamba instead of my heart
so I can always remember our time together.
I like the sounds this poem makes.
Jun 2013 · 1.1k
Down the Rabbit Hole
Brycical Jun 2013
We roll
on the magic carpet into the outward reaches
to wrap abound bodies in communal hugs
atop magical tye-dye mountains and black and white rivers
of Peter Max the hushed whisper of
red bird hair ***** into a conversation
flying further into the horizon that is my dawn light glowing chest.

We roll
over each other on the floor sofa laughing,
like you see in the movies
of delinquent bohemians celebrating life with beers and
pills you swallow. Feels like the puppet strings
on our wings have withered; free to flail.

We roll
our bodies & eyes
backward-forward-sideways together with the music
wryly dancing as the world turns into a desert--

every molecule in our bodies warms--slowly,
like a hot bubble bath,
the earth takes its time spinning....
unlike our Sufi brains still rolling
rolling
and rolling like a stone down a hill betwixt a meadow
between two excited lovers in a cliched scene where
they are running toward each other--
naked with tattoos on their arms
and a smattering of neon orange and blue paint speckling their bodies
while they wear a native american headdress and Ray-Bans.
Jun 2013 · 1.3k
A Metaphor
Brycical Jun 2013
Frantically, a snowflake falls--
terrified of the massive dark cloud
a former home.

Falling--falling
zig-zag loop-de-loop
twist reverse--falling--

Once a vibrant turquoise
filled with melodious birds
whose songs were carried by a brisk breeze--
The dark cloud now envelops
the sky
with a quiet, frigid, painful air
looking for that one frightened snowflake
in a sky of millions leaping for the ground,
forgetting it created that scared snowflake,
just like all the others running away...
Jun 2013 · 548
today we rest
Brycical Jun 2013
colors fade and
words soften
bones tire the night
after a party....

the pleasure of shaking hands
seeing familiar faces and
meeting new smiles
dulls...

all the beer evaporates in our liver
all the hash drifts out our brain
entropy sets in
like jack and jill after rolling down the hill...

the vibration of the all-night music
is but a tingle in the back of the ears
as yesterday seems like a fading echo....
Jun 2013 · 965
Killing the Muse
Brycical Jun 2013
Her veins embue the nectar of creativity--
the euphoric taste is addicting,
and we **** every last drop
like a cigarette 'till her body withers
into ashes.

Many of artist like me are demon mosquitos
with piercing, burning fangs gnawing
on the raw juicy meat
with blood dripping down our chins
until our hunger is satisfied
& the moment is lifeless.
Even then we wrap ourselves around the carcass
like a python to squeeze out every last drop....

The bones are art, or a poem: souvenirs
to show our dominance.
Jun 2013 · 2.2k
Enlighten Up
Brycical Jun 2013
go with your flow cause when you hold
on to fear it slows everyone down
like when your clothes get soaked.
Aren't you tired of listening to that cold sounding channel?
Switching frequencies to love is like donning
a warm flannel blanket but
our minds are a storm of thoughts pouring
down in a rusty trough filled w/ GMO foods
bathed in pesticides--
we've forgotten the well deep inside ourselves
it transcends space and time cause
we're with the divine one teaching us lessons like
a father does with sons and sometimes we don't understand,
it's ok, we're human
class is always in session
jamming like musicians listening for the groove--
the beat and rhythm our self produces to dance to,
a soothing tune like fresh water splashing our dry tongue
a song sung from nourished hearts
where every action is artistic as we listen to our one connection
hitting our ear playing our lungs like bagpipes
bodies in vibration swaying with reckless abandon
dancing like when man first discovered fire
to enlighten up a whole nation.
Jun 2013 · 2.6k
This morning i was thinking
Brycical Jun 2013
about pictures of bears without any fur, and they look horrendously terrifying. Like ****** space gorillas you see in poorly done sci-fi movies. Do you think panda bears are still the cutest bear without any fur?

I wonder if dragons get lung cancer from all the smoking they do. I'd rather think about a hairless panda bear breathing fire--it's jaws sinking into the underbelly of a mortally wounded dragon and as it starts munching on the dragon pancreas, it accidentally sneezes causing it's lunch to incinerate to ashes.

That's probably why dragons are extinct. Hairless panda bears donned armor, riding horses; questing to eat dragon pancreas.

They also thought amor prevented lung cancer. It was the middle ages, people or animals didn't have modern technology to explain diseases, let alone where babies came from. Except for dragons, and look at how their species turned out.   ****, I'm throwing my phone in the toilet right now.
Jun 2013 · 1.2k
Nothing in the Bottle
Brycical Jun 2013
pouring out my heart
into your glass cup--
emotions ferment over time
soon you runneth over
drowning in a taste once sweet
to the ears,
a heart-healthy concoction of poetry
and lame jokes about "what"
once able to warm your body
now tastes bitter like a rotten cheese
of moldy frowns
stinging like shards of passive aggressive glass
in the back of your throat.

after everything is gone
I feel empty--
alone
like one of those cheap bottle's of tuesday night sauvignon blanc
discarded next to my bed--
swilled in under a half-hour
because taste is irrelevant--
just using it for dizzy forgetfulness
waiting in bed next to me
for the opportunity
to kiss me with puke breath
and wrap my head in tender aching nausea .
  
Feeling used as I drift off
into a series of hazy dreams
only to be forgotten in the morning.
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