Creative Mind

I live in the back of his mouth
Somewhere in his navel
Behind the yellowing teeth
And the endless assault
Of smoke
And hallucinogenic

I live somewhere behind all of the work
All of the writing
All of the pain and the misdirected hate.

Finely Ground Keef

“I don’t know if I want to”
The tip pressured when lips are sealed
In hesitant piece
Moist complacency
Spread round
Like a bandana worn banner
Stating “place cock here”

They budge
They hate themselves for it
They compromise
They sink their rubber boot
into that first
Puddle
leading to the ocean
their mother warned them
“you’ll drown”
But the water feels good
On your toes
And so you take another
With a nod and a whimper:
“Thank you”

They pluck a pill
And sink it
Swallowing
They pluck a pill
Placing on the dripping
Tongue
They pluck a pill
Pop
And the wrapper
Radiates a thousand colors
They stick the stone
And feel the pain slip away
Like a towel
From an awaiting lover

They say it melts on your tongue
But you were the one to melt
In that warm saliva

They say the stomach cramps
Will ache only for a little while
But the hurt lasts indefinitely

Molly
And mouthfuls of mind
And the ice cream cranium
Melts in the sun

Until you’re the tread under
The passing feet
Observed, but otherwise
Ignored.