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Nov 2020
blazing the tall grass of the past
acting the big bad wolf
huffing, puffing cigarettes
and blowing up Peruvian powder.
dancing on stages and tables
while growling my agony
in moans and groans
to joy division tones.
howling into the night
to back beats and guitar solos
shrieking with a might
heads could explode.
black ink burning my pages
with a darkness which could shake
brooding Boston-born Poe
in his Baltimore burial bed.

i contain multitudes.

hiding behind wind swept
wild weeping willow hair,
hanging in my face
shying from prying stares.
locking myself behind
dingy dungeon bedroom doors
chained to a writing desk
fighting writers block wars.
playing second fiddle
keyboardist on a typewriter
to Charlie Parker records
fingers dancing to jazz chords.
putting cigarettes out
on my forearms
caging myself indoors for lab rat
benzodiazepine tolerance tests.

i contain multitudes.

wearing flower crowns
and thorn tiaras
on my head which hung
some days
while prancing with peacock pomp
other days. i contain multitudes.
swinging back and forth
as the wind blows
my moods in blue hues
to purple patches and back again,
orbiting around the bend
of my loose ***** head.

i contain multitudes.
whitman & dylan are gods
Rob Cohen
Written by
Rob Cohen  30/M/Cape Town
(30/M/Cape Town)   
60
   Jeremy Stacy
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