1996



1.

Back in the days of growth and prosperity, lambent blue harmonies

pealed from my movements to sing broken counterpoint in basso profundo

beneath a lone, doggish, reptilian creature orgiastically clenched

in spasmodic recumbence on the green shoals of Venus, in the chlorine

and methane tinged amethyst haze, feasting upon its own mustard innards.



2.

March and its Ides having just turned the corner, the park was a gritty

sponge not fit for sleeping. None deserve sight of one better concealed,

so I hid in my room, for days, like a gun. Then my good buddy, Wyatt

(who'd razed me before with his hex-addled bags of organic slug menses

and thorium scones) rapped on my door flush with thymine derivative,

come, as he had, to undo me again. Later I called him. Okay, Wy, I did it...



He knew me, and paused. Yeah? Huh, me and Hofer had the same trip last night,

man, and we felt the SAME WAY...



3.

Soon after that I had dreams of the future that sort of came true.

Though later I realized how all twines together: drugs, times, needs,

smokes, her, you, them. My days back then were dark incandescence.

I felt pure as animals. Sometimes I still do.



Even now, under idiots' cubed jurisdiction.