Focus

My imagination is running wild

Whisking me off to Neverland I hope

Captain Hook hauls me in

I wouldn’t wanna be a Lost Boy.

You see, my brain is already aimless enough

An archer in the rough

My thoughts are old acquaintances that happen to bump into one another

On the street from time to time and by then

The assignment was due two days ago.

I know there’s a Jekyll hyding within me but

My demons aren’t docile, no

They’re hostile, so

I’m just an ambling hostage enjoying the vestiges of my freedom.

And boy, do I know why the caged bird sings,

Their tales of tailwinds and unclipped wings

What joy it brings, to reminisce in your recliner

And actually think horizontally about things.

Over it

I know that I have a better chance of

Shooting this rubber-band between the fan blades on “High”

Or

Sinking my Spalding ball from full-court with closed eyes

But

I promise I’m worth a shot or maybe two

Let me be the

Cheap vodka in your sequin glass tonight, I promise to go down smoothly

You’ll barely know I’m there with all that mixing you like doing.

Don’t use me all in one place or rather

Let me be the

Kush fumes you exhale in exotic dorm rooms

This smog won’t smother you, the smiles are all I need

I pinky promise, I’m just a passing cloud of comfort

Here for heavenly highs, call it cross-faded I suppose.

I’ll be the tender acid tab nestled on your tongue

The sheltering shroom cap shoved between your bicuspids

Jack, Lucy, Mary, or that fucking bitch Molly just

Allow me to be the vice that haunts you one last time

No relapse required, Just a bump for old time’s sake

Nothing at stake, except for the reminder of the rush I always gave you.

Free your mind and feel my vibe course through your veins,

Your dirty little secret

Five-ever and ever.

Omni

Cogs meshing in unison, another

Second passes into a minute into an hour into

Another word not written, another idea without flesh,

And here I write to the rhythm of the ticks

Talking about time, I can just never have enough

The present is my heroin, I get the

Shakes when it shifts on me

But, it recently quit me cold-turkey and now my goose is cooked, but I ain’t chicken.

Trapped in a supercilious Gatsby party

Borne back ceaselessly into the past

Trying to keep up with my body’s motions, mind’s notions,

Life’s erosions

Are corrosive when you’re as slow to process as I am.

So thanks to all of you who relent for me. 

Kribi

I’m dying of thirst, painfully parched

Scouring the arid desert of my mind, looking for

Lost answers and missing pages amidst the dunes I wrote you a poem, miss, I hope you like it.

But it’s rainy season now, the droplets of the destitute drizzle down

One after another, like windowpane races in mom’s Camry, the clouds’ fallen angels

And these God-forsaken Lucifers avoid my tongue like the plague

Procreating with the sand around my sneakers, depriving my depraved mouth of

One sip of salvation, “Jesus Walks” is no replacement for the rectory I’m sorry ma, I missed mass this week.

The thirst is all too real. So is the solitude.

As the soulless sun rays seep into my epidermis, I surrender my endeavor.

Archaeologists are not the archetypes of perfection, and some things are better

Folded between the wrinkles of passing time and withering memory

Quarters beneath the couch cushions of yesterday, never to be claimed again, and so

I wept like Him. I weep like Him.

And lo and behold my lachrymose lamentation

Provides the potion for my pangs,

The saline storm dispatches savior soldiers down my cheeks

As I nest the nativity of my own nourishment.

The taste of independence is… bittersweet at best.

And I continue to wander, wishing for a well to quell

The damned duration of my dry spell,

I trudge forward open-mindedly, vigilant for my oasis, but

When you’re dying of thirst,

Even the tears of others will do.