PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I remember, not the drugs but the flowering of 
the celestial spirit of inner exploration. 

Sounds and pictures of swirling glasses 
tinkling with the barely disguised wine. 

Shutting down impossible, making every 
carved statue dwindle into life. 

Psychedelic, like a lava lamp pulling down 
the pants of respectable brainwash. 

I recall when there were bells ringing 
in the robes of sacred hormonal growing. 

Forever frozen in the yelling of the signs 
that fell to the ground with the death throes. 

So in resurrection, let the on and off 
switch constantly repeat new layers of plastic. 

I draw a picture, then I throw it into the 
toilet bowl of mis-matched pieces of furniture. 

Grabbing my neon speckled glove I jump 
to conclusions of all sorts of war drums.