wardens trying to catch the running thoughts… here and there, snakes become ladders.

jailbirds of a different kind, pink and yellow trunks, see-through vests. they're way too many, they can't be numbered.

parole impossible, behaviour mad… drinking spirits and each other, in equal parts. pink dogs with zebra tails, fetching make-believe bones lost amidst psychedelic sunflowers.

thoughts helter skelter, in the tiny vastness, where only grey matters. bright flashes creep in at the bat of an eye, the hazy images of the outside world.

'em wardens are back, logic loaded in their guns. six rounds, a million too few… but now the dogs found something to chew!

a sip of deep blond
pain lessons
mastered by trapped monks

moist lips sigh
sensual overdose momentarily
smooth like mob barley

a frosted sign
through the fat bottomed glass
bubbles like a phoenix rising

over the ice-cold rim
clouds descending, swirling
brewing. churning the mind

a face expressionless
hardened with
expectations seldom met

but in glances
the eyes sing
verses come alive

unsung yet familiar tunes
of life, yours and mine
a sip and just web and froth

r
  e
      m
           a
               i
            n


they're signs she whispered
tightening her grip
with freedom tattooed wrists

quiet thunder, a roaring breeze…
bright darkness, a shadow of light

a shot of wine, a sip of coffee…
a quick kiss, a long wink

never ending legs and stubby stilettos, piercing light eyes tamed by a smoky halo...
clumsily impeccable hair, that familiar perfume in the air

the eyes hear,  what wasn't meant for the ear...
the obvious, oblivious and the unspoken understood

a shoulder to smile on, cradle the bizarre…
bathroom mirrors are the place for tears

easy come, a comfy go, strings attached…
filing voids, where there were none

tentacles are wings, jellyfishes float in the sky…
birds fly underwater, singing ballads to whales…

random words, does not a poem make
i've no clue why I write this... maybe just a weird take.

Somewhere between midnight and dawn, in  the middle of no where...

For miles there is just black, a faint star here and there. Or just  my imagination.

I was at the bar, now I’m not.
I am lost, not really. Not my mind, though I ought to be.

Maybe the jungle juice wasn't as potent, or did  the flirty woman stray its influence? The bartender shared my drinks, I'm sure.  

I remember the one handed guitarist took me to some magical place. His spin made it special. The stories too.

And the slurring words and easy smile didn't mask his once life, under the spotlight, with pains and pleasures of many curtain calls.

The balmy breeze caresses like that special someone, nonchalantly, almost teasingly flicking hair from my face. Carelessly, carefully.

Stillness and darkness, a strange duet.  Engulfing, cocoon-like. Draped in solitude. Tight. Yet so easy to breathe.

The trees murmur verses, the fields the chorus. A lullaby of sorts. Which sedates and awakens.

Healing. Transforming…

The call of the open roads, a city still asleep…

The slow burn as the dawn takes a bow, and sets the stage for another show...

Of curves and straights, and odd complexities of  going under or over…

Of freedom.

Of pain and sweat and sweet victories. Chirping birds and jarring horns...

The familiar silhouette of wagging tails, and jagged paths...

Of people... Strangers or just familiar faces.

Of friends. Same places and faces.

Conversations punctuated with heavy breath.

Of silence amidst noise. Of solitude in crowds. Thoughts meandering in rhythm with the motion, sometimes not…

The brake and breaks. Seeking pleasure  in the usual, which seems same and yet unusual…

Day dreaming, lost and yet aware. Fast and slow. Laughing and cringing…

Gleaming legs and the last leg. It's time to get back to the 'other' life, the other side…

Until, it's back to spinning again.