I feel that I am filling up with time
Not full of days like some ancient sage
But full enough to notice
That the great glob of time within me
Is beginning to ferment into a bitter hooch
That dulls me into stupid, hoochy thoughts
I don’t understand you
Everything moves too fast
That’s not music
What’s with all the tattoos?
Even though I swore back in 1967
That I would never think those thoughts
We are but paltry flesh balloons
Filled with the juice of days
Fermenting away until we swell and burst
Psychedelic splatters on a cosmic sidewalk
Comments
joshua mertz
April 14, 2013
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Where does this *&^%$& come from?
Sometimes the little man living in the cell at the back of my skull whispers some very strange stuff to me.
Michael Mayhew
April 15, 2013
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Blooey!!
...another psychedelic balloon drops...
Jennifer Dixey
May 19, 2013
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Nice balance ...
Between rhythm and resonance - reading it again I just caught how the 1967 at the beginning ties into the psychedelic image at the end - I think this is one I will come back to for inspiration. I especially like "... a bitter hooch/That dulls me into stupid, hoochy thoughts" because it's so casual, it could almost be conversation, but it tickles the ear in a way that ordinary speech doesn't.
(OK, but one thing ... what's with the shouting in the title?) :)