Meaning
I was Life before those drug hazed caramel sticky days weaved through me like a young boy - roving creeping flailing looking for Meaning in: snorting breathing smoking, high up high in kite filled dreams of purple words spitting off the lips of coke tongues numb like Februrary - quietly crackling in frozen fires of speed filling up post-addiction paragraphes in terrific tomes of powder and razor blade leftovers.
I felt Life loom lustrous in cool cold cars iced over and steamed up in short staccato whispers of hasty boys and sparkling frost, stealing my supper of standards and stomping it to the frozen sidewalks trying to keep warmhotswety, eating after-sex cigarettes; I am listening to sweet smelling metaphors of lust loop over over over into slippery songs tasting the twinge of guilt brought by baneful substitutes of pussy contentment caught by the web wisp of growing up.
I remember meditating in beds against the ceiling against me, wallroommusic melting in cacaphonous catalepsies, so our dusty dances wake and dream together: acid in retinal thoughts; dripping daisies in miniature rivers of tea and tangy biscuits, epiphanies climax and explode crisply into Meaning only to be forgotten when flavors of sleep wake me the next morning.
I know we flowed into the air during these days for air is: space and I and dirt and sweet honest children gasping for spirit in distraught devilish corruption, society mixing morals and melodies together in sex and cold steel cells and angry death monsters sleeping in cozy closets of mind and childhood; pink wrinkled babies aborted into wombs of dumpsters scream for truth and breast, the result of whiskey baptized backseat orgies unwanted by giggling girls frothy in youthful hard-ons of impulse.
Then I recall Life linked me to the jeering rock jetties and seraphim sand I stood sat fucked on every moment, kissing ozone breath and cigarette exhales with every thought. Super walls of seashell worries babbled concrete sidewalks under my feet, laced loosely in chewing gum and bread crumbs connecting the chess thought intellectuals of each step taken by: man child bird horse, walking blindly like bar-close crowds laughing slipping tossing themselves into the next moment like marionettes with missing meringue strings.
Next I laugh over cherry whipped cream smiles during love, locating this question - not idea - of purposeful reason for the quiet fireplace nights and goosebump kisses by so many boys eager for the next wet moment of greed. I see need for this cigarette burn pain in Meaning, searing slowly through weekends dipped curry sauce hot and seconds of gasoline lit fights with overtalk and ideas strung up and out in mushroom fueled Christmas decorations.
Soon I will bundle Life in my red pack next to socks and poor poems, trekking toward effervescent days of sugar soaked light flickering now in my hopes, short circuiting bulbs of doubt and past. Wasted time is level with forever, gone and to be still, coupling frog princes to literary tightropes of search-and-rescue of lost marijuana babies, reverberating mini-slide shows of memories in the arteries of us finding more Meaning than quick pussy and yellow eyed parties.