“Mushroom Trip Serendipity”
Mushroom trip serendipity.
Can feel the maze closing in on me.
Each limb slips and further imprisons me.
I can’t breathe.
Closing elevator doors,
Gas pump meter rolling on.
Ran the stairs,
And missed the top step.
Catapulted into another day.
Rage rage rage trebuchet,
Conducting malignant doubts,
Into projected projectiles.
Who am I?
But, that which aids to infamy.
Affirming my exhaustion,
For living and those living.
Standing backwards on a forward moving bus.
The slack- jawed tension of the mob hangs on every blank face.
There are no dreams to be had on this bus,
Just motion sickness and disappointment.
There’s no telling when we arrive at the terminal,
But it’s certain that it will be the last stop.
“A Storm Is Coming”
Building and building,
Some, don’t listen,
and carry on.
Others, don’t believe the weatherman,
despite the evidence.
Rain could wet their clothes,
and they would deny it’s rain.
You can’t change people like that.
want to see the world burn,
so they could say they told you it would.
Reality is not their thing,
The world is flat.
America is great.
The news is fake.
I didn’t say that.
right here upon a heart staked hope,
I asked for help, your shoulder cold.
irksome, lonesome, per arrangement,
a perfect marriage becomes estrangement.
left to quiet room’s despair,
Atlas shrugged, and took a chair.
suffer, shame despondent moods.
harried lifelong interludes.
a simple sense surrounding charms,
regurgitating swallowed harms.