Gave in to the itch, looking for that real betterness.
I'm spinning, loud clothes, quiet figure,
Burnished copper chain on my chest,
The wry smile of a free animal who knows it's time

to mix some skiddy-up juice: Sea Dog Jamaican ***;
Smirnoff *****, Berliner Luft, peppermint tea;
Stroh '40' Austrian ***, apple & ginger;
Eventually it fades, I feel those
tendrils drag me back
into the sways, the throes.
The only thing to outrun them
is music. It is good to travel, to get away.

Being home, perspective etches a contrast
between lives, and I feel what destroys me,
My past chaste me, but I always had an escape plan.
Shall I reinvent myself again?