I've never read The Torah, but
I'm reasonably sure
it is a travel guide
for a desert getaway.

I've never dreamed of
red headed priestesses
who can move their hips
like cement mixers.
They probably have sharp teeth and
slender fingers.

I always thought that
the cosmos would bend down
to give me a dap.
It still may.

I'm full of dark and weird judgement.
All for you.
Sometimes the darkness wanes
while the weirdness lingers.

If only, on that fateful day,
my Draft Board had been on LSD.

They might have sent me to Wonderland
to explain croquet and the proper pouring of tea;

they might have sent me to OZ
to get into Dorothy's pants or train flying monkeys;

they might have sent me to Hogwarts
to get an advanced degree in something useful;

they might have sent me to Narnia
in search of ****** pelts and talking mice;

they might have sent me to Never Land
to counsel Captain Hook on anger management;

but no, instead, imagination failed utterly,
and those patriotic imbeciles sent me to Vietnam.

If only, on that fateful day,
my Draft Board had been on LSD.

We really didn't need
another study
into the Placebo Effect,
but it
made the researchers
feel better.

There were times when I ruled the dreams
No difference between the future of reality
and the world in my womb garden
Green grass
Clear skies
Warm breeze
Those days would surely last forever

Now a sense of senial reality prevents ******* of those lucid thoughts
I dream for those dreams to return.

Solstice, a balmy summer reverie
Painted by secreting watercolor filled syringes
Flowing doses of vivacious antidotes have been carefully webbed tightly to the tiny rings and pings sung by the now cellophane hairs captive of one’s inner ears
Nonchalantly breathing into useless feeble minds
Tenacious thoughts now traveling at the speed of light rupturing eggshell craniums
A staggering yet haltering cogitation silently seeps through the dark self condemned asylum as if it was awaiting the bargained price.
Sound proof simplicity , a temporary lobotomy
Everything is still, bliss, and untrue
Vortexed by images portraying perpetually uncomplexed inhabitants
While foam slowly oozes from any unfilled cavity
Rubber, fraying, faulted tubes filled with foreign ideas now escape it’s once fleshy coffin
Time lapses while tucking in bedside lies to the shape of a familiar casted shadow
Who will you be when it strikes for you