I,
my bottle of oak-matured Irish whisky
and the old mahogany pipe
A party not joined by my thoughts
nae my owl eyes
I can feel the elegance emanating from the
reefer hazily rising
To the calm peaceful warm airs.
In the back of the retina the null void
spaces
I can see the wisdom of the aged pipe
For wisdom and experience are
of blood
Glitzy tomorrow on a dark today
Sunshine after the storm
Love and the world not into the head
Bed of thorns
Soggy floors and surfaces
Stand or seat?
I hibernate in queer spaces
And rest in strange places like a bird of night
Reminiscing In the clean sanitised
UNDEFILED airs
Where no breathing creature’s ever been
Constructing these castles
Painting the sketches of conscious dream
like a desperate artiste
With mad hope of selling his soul on
leather to the blind eye
These are my pipe dreams no soul ever had
Psycho kinesis ,
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