“and
when an addict runs out of brain cells he is in a terrible fucking position.”
-william
s. burroughs
high
high,
high, high
don’t
even try
to
understand why
i’m
just high
i
jog each morning
crunch
and do pushups
caffeinate
hold
down a job
high
all the while
no
intended guile
people
have so much to say
unaware
of my book
the
dark streets of decay
questions
no longer remain
but
social decorum
requires
me to nod and grunt
just
pretend i’m listening to you
while
you talk to me
i’ll
stick with my science magazines
science
wasn’t designed to be a philosophy
but
i perceive me in a field
hundreds
of millions of light years long
i’m
an infertile seed on un-fallow ground
your
words are sounds made with vocal chords
nothing
more
besides
i’m fading in a forest of forgotten frames
no
pictures contained
memories
unclaimed are all that remain
prescription
pill pretension
high
without extension
adrift
at sea
undefined
i’d
draw a line
but
i can’t remember where i put the chalk
and
when i come across it
i
realize that i really just don’t care
i
close the junk drawer and stare
trying
to remember why i came downstairs
and
opened the junk drawer in the first place
my
broken starship is drifting in space
i’m
getting lean on cans of beans
no
longer haunted by un-materialized dreams
cause
i can’t construct a cohesive thought
but
truthfully everything i was ever taught
is
best forgotten anyway
***
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