i

i was not rich or famous lily
but i experimented with lsd
not knowing-was i  alcoholic
was i depressed or just curious..

when i say experiment, i took
a tab and wanderered in the forest..
after tapping my foot in the bar
it was loose and cosmic

in the moon light or in danger
but mostly there was another way
something new an alternative
from grey there was colour..

ii

moderation was the key
usually a friday and saturday
and spontaneously..well,i don´t know..
what time is it..

i mention with interest
as  the psychedelic element
makes it´s laborious journey
into the medical  mainstream..

i

usual is my name
i say what is expected
before hands

eyes glaze and i stay
a drone in monotone
little do they know

my origins-just as
small a need to explain
loveless children

nod like plod
in trills of pain
some how far


in a fear
in spiked tears
to carry aload

to shrug and grin
in broken glass
a shruken punch line..

ii

nostalgia is not
a box of matches
lily laughs

more stone and
a moon
the toxic vista..

i

time is a pitza
round and cheesy-
a bubble of sound
(einstein say)

i like it simple-
some pimiento-
just for o
eternal

take away
the tomato..
life is onion
tears or happy..

ii

is time a pitza?
if you consider post-war
britain..

my mother was twenty-one
before she saw an orange
(one of those words

for which  nothing rhymes)
and she was aged before
she saw, mozzarella..


iii

we had fish and chips on a
saturday
dandillion and burdock pop

my father had tripe on a
saturday night
our car was green

i knew the engine..
we listened to the radio
just a minute was on..

i

like you know the way
like it stretches
like time

reds and brown
gold like heaven
-less  a pitza

more religious
experience
utopia..

ii

and then we are obese
so we watch tv
things are tedious..

then,we do stuff we´d
rather not-ah..
dystopia..

what is to be
hope-a stick of celery
and a dip..