When I was younger,
I was a shaman
chanting melodies
that I hoped
would change the world.

Perhaps, they did
for my people;
the schizophrenic
gypsy stoners earth mother
worshiping airy words
burning the creative
liquid juices squirting
over our brains
like a drop of LSD on a sugar cube.

But now,
I can feel the age
in my emotions.
Time drags me
through, smoldering campfire
ashes smoking to the heavens...
where the stars
look like they're rotting away
inside the mouth of space.
Even shadows are afraid
to hide in these dark corners.

These places in space
are so cool
chilly
hip.
Some kind of
sarcastic
one-liner
witticism  
of ironic truth
temperature.

And I wish
to go back there.
But I must
return back
to earth to learn
what I cannot escape.