Orange peel Thursdays and the Velcro shoes Of children hordes Who spider up Alice on toadstools in Central Park Dusted psilocybin shoots my eyes through With the clarity of ice and sliced mushroom Steeping in stomach acid before finding blood The kids are tripping like madmen or halloween candy Like its time to release and give up to the nonsense And let your young self congeal to a saccharine sludge
I don’t stroll in the park to keep my mind sharp I’m here because it’s a riot My head can throb to the jittery birds And the blasts of carsong It’s the right kind of rhythm to walk to
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Ketamine days and the lolling slums To make sure the insane stay insane And the hobos are washed with spit from the clouds And the subway exhaust always hangs in our hair And the old Coney Island burns again and twice more
We don’t pretend to understand what we see In subway grates thirty feet wide Like the earth punching out of work for a bit Opening to you her *** belly So you can check out the strips of metal inside Before she slurps you down and with an esophageal squeeze Shoots you through the turnstiles
The train squeals and grinds down our eyes With thoughts as slow as ketamine Makes room for schizophrenia in a conversation We’re listening to ‘til sundown
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Years full of Brooklyn and the assorted pills Makes offal fit for punks in name brand shoes Squared off with police in the park Being beaten for the fun of being beaten Peacoat locals pass the days in supermarkets And you grow up to the loony mumble Of the woman who knows the boat Moored at the end of the street Mansion of the stray cat colony You help her with her daily chore to feed them Tabbies popping the pills of the homeless And puking in tandem all over their house Living off generous dying folk