Expose emotion to the eye of the clouds the clit of mother earth,
We fall in love with your rays for your love itself we are too infant to handle,
Expose emotion to the eye of the sky and they too will learn to evaporate,
The laws of chemistry must be upheld.
To age and calendars I salute, life has nothing more to teach me
Than to rain on me unstable raindrops of stability bearing lessons
On how to skate on my quivering concurrent trails of thoughts,
I parted ways with insanity the day I got stoned and called my mother
asking her what my name was, she laughed at me, she laughed with me,
I laughed at me too; she thought I was joking,
In another completely different universe parallel to this one
I was sitting in my stony henge of a house fiddling with concepts
weighing fragments of dreams on a balance scale,
All around me was modernised black and sticky tar
that made up winding roads that led to nowhere,
across all four walls of my stony henge of a house life lessons were written,
invisible to a sober eye and one of them translates:-
“we die, we are reborn, we get happy, we get sad and the circle continues,
right in the heart of the Cartesian plane these contingencies make
build for yourself a castle and let it stand fully erect praising sunshine
and waving at stars”
Life really has nothing more to teach me. . .
At that moment I understood my stony henge of a house, the winding roads,
the lack of description in this poem, the Cartesian plane and my mother’s laugh,
At that very moment fully under the influence of green herbs
I understood that between death, rebirth, happiness and sadness,
Whether I face them stoned chanting in infinite space,
Whether public perceptions serve as pats on my back when I need it,
The stony house was my castle of rest,
The winding road was were my daily routines took place
In which while rounding and rounding in infinite circles
I met death, rebirth, happiness and sadness countless times.
My mother’s laugh represented how one’s mind can be entitled
to its own confined domain, sheltered from external influence.
To age and calendars I salute, life really has nothing more to teach me. . .
I couldn’t mess with time, I couldn’t live with myself, even time is not forever,
Some dumb idiot must have peeled off the label that said “handle with care”,
Someday soon time will grow a mouth and tell tales of a stoner
whose path was not imaginary, my path is not imaginary,
I just failed to see my path because in my haste to chase the sun
all I saw was the clit itself and my misunderstood weekend casualties
that bore me a son I refuse to name.
And to the sun I exposed my emotions proclaiming my infatuation
and to nothingness my poor emotions evaporated,
With the herb wearing off now, let me shut out the gong sound of my thoughts
and try to make sense of the words I just wrote.
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