They’re crowding around the DJ stand,
Arms up in ecstasy, heads are down in pills,
Decoding rhythms of synthetic sound
Over spilled beer from dented cans,
And the scent of baking soda and ****
Clouding lungs, and blacking minds.

Lights hang low, sweating heat through
Exploding bulbs. The youth press together
In a slave ship of fashion and ***. Nothing
Makes sense to the acid kids staring in
Mirrors, old razor blades
And plastic bags scattering the flood
Of **** and stench, and trailing shoe laces.

Eyes closed, the lead rain of death
Is suspended, as aurora fields stain green
Light and visions of Christ and Buddha
Across whatever is left of me.
Elbows are pressing invariably into my sides,
As drunks and dealers move like cattle,
Farming their wages for one more drink.

How did it come to this? What happened
To the domestic love of paved-over gardens
And standing on sheds? What happened
To the easy sleep, as we turned to dreams
As we do now to habit?
How long is there left to regain the self,
That we spend a lifetime catching up with again?