I thought I left them in the ****** desert with the burning diesel & the screams, the ratta-tat-tats & the bad dreams. But I was ******* wrong, they're still here brotha, buried here, deep inside my aching head.
I was unborn when the psychodelic bus left the station, but I was told about the trip, the wild flowers & mystic smoke, the electric music that blew minds & glass tubes. I heard it was groovy, that it moved hippie-souls into a positive-karmic state, a place I wished we had stayed.
forage through my carrots polish my tomato smile as you suggestively swallow the banana devour all the sour cream on the red hot long burrito gulp the vanilla ice cream smile shyly when I get a taste of pie.
I know nothing of women they are beauty but, beyond that I cower witlessly. I timorously politely grimace in their presence dimly wondering if they see me. They, women shimmer brightly, like a mirror of my sister or mother so pure, i think. too pure to vision them as I do.