Rolling skin shifts from side to side
This beating hit mashes
The backs of my knees so they are kissing spirits

The low beds here make you feel like a salmon
Caught in some fisherman’s net
Its obstructs your vision of the world

All you can classify from the passers by
Is the smell of their voyage
And the sand falling from their scalp muscles

The heat confuses your senses
Your insurrection causes you to plead for a truce
A plea not to be hearing German overtones in your own head

Where am I now in this weary plane crash?
Even the monsters make noises of bliss
The streets are filled with Technicolor tropics
2 joints for 8 dollars from homeless Anthony

A land of unbearable strangeness
Reality left us when the water fell
Completing an oasis of vibrancy and nutrition

The earth cracks beneath the roaming
Of infinite stray dogs and feral humans
Everything here has a tale
But you may not know it until it is wrapped around your inner thigh

A sixth sense of blasphemy
Forms a pit of fear in your stomach for whatever you left behind
Such creatures never meant to be seen caged between your very eyes

They grasp as if you were some ancient tree
Equally deserving of their devotion  

I am just an eroded soldier
And this armor is really starting to eat away at the cause
One can not find zen in this confusion
But we will all float down that path eventually
Zen can wait for I would rather wade with the sinners in the pool of exoneration