Let me tell you what once was
and what has come to pass,
We skip over the names
of chemicals ingested
otherwise we might be here
forever, boring you
with the finer details of our sorcery.

Some psychoactives were ingested
and they had great effect, but
as that garrulous fiend
lost himself to/in guileless babbling
about some concomitant companion,
A friend, an event, special he felt
in the company of a human
who made him feel like an adult,
Selfish octopus
what you must think of me, but
why should I care/does it matter?
I do because it's what humans do
and there's some human left in me
yet (hopefully.) Tell me what occurred
on the banks of the Lethe?
Don't answer that.
"Not what but why" was actually asked.
My, this has been
a most meandering
experience said the
author who promptly
resigned and fell asleep
doubtful how anyone who
actually bothered to read this
most prosaic mess should have
managed. It does have a fine name
if nothing else, and undertones
of narcissism always help in
the casting of a fair spell.

Floating down this
preserved memory,
Way down on
the banks of
the Lethe
where
memory
dares not
ordinarily
stir (up whatever
does occur), therein

we find ourselves asking
why