maybe I’ve changed
maybe the world changed
maybe both
maybe it’s sufficiently for the better
maybe it’s superlative for the worst

who knows?

I don’t

but those days spent
in dilapidated rooms
were ****** in the
otherworldly beauty of music,
that made us feel invisible
in our own little mystical
world of phlegmatic compositions
and we outlawed the vexation
of petty differences and tribulations

under the same pale moonlight,
our hearts were accompanied by
borrowing time from the
misery of tomorrow,
being chased by elephants,
and exhausted in pleasure
until we lost control of ourselves
in the beer bottles of perplexity
we talked a lot,
we drank a lot,
we smoked a lot,
Iggy Pop and Tom Waits,
moonshine and tweeka,
tranced in Susanna Hoffs eyes,
you truly were the
dancer in the dark
and sincerely,
those days
can not be beaten,
outdone
or relived
again

although
my best friend
is beyond the sky
by now
the remembrance of
memories and the
feelings of presence
makes me tremble

you were priceless and irreplaceable
but even diamonds turn to dust,
even diamonds turn to dust

and this is the end
of all dreams
yes,
the end
of all
dreams

in a magic land of purple static
with a hint of blue and green,
ghastly shadow figures stand tall
and dance in the background
of delirium and madness.
quadrilateral patterns hang
netted in dinosaur shaped trees
surrounded by lizard tin foil
windows and roosters crowing
in the moonless midnight.
watching cowboys puke peyote
in the plateaus of the Sierra Madre,
as white dragons couch surf through
the waterfalls of decrepit old women.
fingers bend back and melt into the
ice cube ashtrays and flowers bubble
up out of bedsheets as your waving
hands leaves behind black trails of
indiscretion.
three headed old man sits alone by
the campfire adjacent from moats
of mossy grass glistening in the
silver stars.
distorted magnets hang on refrigerator
doors as pumpkin heads and cancer
patients sit around candle lit tables.
twinkling treble clefts leave gentle,
somber imprints as the tunes float
out of the music box.
blue and gold caps tie intestines
up like a twisted pretzel.
unsavory flavors linger in the mouth
from styrofoam textures.
intensifying citrus awaits the
elephants gates of psychedelic
hallucinations.

                                  I
                              have
                           one thing
                        to say about
                whiskey and shrooms
             .... I miss my friend Kennie
                             every
                             single
                             day....