Psycho Tropic They say I’m the patron saint of the disillusioned DSM IV you’re my holy scripture multiple choice tests to forecast Major depression (with psychotic “features”) does that mean I come with new upholstery? Prozac sneaky you my gateway drug when I take off my mask you’re the make-up underneath a little redundant Risperdal was I really that loony-tunes? you were rude at the dinner table you had to be excused Pete’s Espresso you were a marathon runner, unstoppable but you didn’t pace yourself ran yourself breathless and inevitably came in third Marina Pier gateway to the unknowable Prozac’s nemesis The right-hand man of grain alcohol and cough medicine you took over when Amtrak failed me Fisherman pulled me out when I bit your line you held me at bay ......................... Time Warp Maureen’s perfume was made to smell like Britney Spears but everything began to go hazy when she approached was she hoping to draw me into some car-wash-air-freshener-taxi-cab? back on Dwight Way I rode through the October dew to Berkeley High on rollerblades often I overslept my spend-thrift father would call yellow cab that strange woman in the driver’s seat had she just come back from a smokey tour de force along the Vegas strip? lit some cinnamon-cherry-blossom-chloride incense to whisk me away to that pseudo educational extravaganza? those were troubling times AP chemistry with our Kilt-wearing Professor Glimme it was enough to drive a boy to drink or to Independent Study that was where I met Maureen .......................... Mad Red scarlet fever inflamed anger blood why is anger RED? for blood drawn in vengeance? the Vampire’s carnal sweet tooth for the flag folly of the Bull who deserves the matador ’s skull? the gratuitous caustica of a crimson swastika? RED RED RED for furnaced-forged faces flushed in fury? my loathe and contempt of red meat? the bite of the red ant when he dines on my feet? the rash the mosquito the spider the itch? RED RED RED for reds run in road rage rush? the Massive military Might of Mars? red wine wrought wrestling? for the vehemently volatile Volcano’s vendetta? the demented damnation of eternal duration of the Devil’s fiery final destination? NO! It is for Republicans! RED RED RED. ...................... About Tomorrow Awoke last night, 5:55 sobbing an entire life ahead of me, I saw epic failure a character in a Shakespearian tragedy though I was awake, in a sense arteries still pulsed the rush of an illusory horror massaging it away hands all over all over my shoulders, my temples, my back oh, if only it were that easy my mind has more tricks than a red light district and when imagination kisses fear ids run wild in such shock, I thought maybe I’ll hallucinate maybe a bewitched mannequin or a skeleton comes at me old bones animated grinning like “Here’s Johnny!” Crouching like a bobcat it’ll lunge at me with scalpel fingers cut me up like a slasher flick these were waking thoughts first and before, I dreamt I was doing karate again practicing my left roundhouse but I am right-footed the punching bag merely swayed ................ Infest I cannot let you pass through that door, my fury friend. You have a colony ravaging your epidermis, siphoning the oxidized red liquid flowing through your body. It is a parasitic nightmare of little black dots with legs, drilling for oil on the surface of your body, you lumbering feline Sand Crawler. Everywhere they go, your tiny nemesis digs into your follicles and ravages your skin. You, like a colossal beast to your small, thirsty, ruthless companions, bring down your sabertooth fangs unto your own epic hide, biting away at the itch or the terrified filth-dwelllers. To us titans though, you aren’t even the size of a stomach. We love you and we love to stroke your furry forest and scratch under your satellite dish ears, but you, my friend, are now an untouchable. You have brought your ruinous plague into our dwelling and onto our bodies, and, until it is vanquished, you will remain an exile. We have a plan. We will plant and detonate an atomic bomb and irradiate all life (if you can call it that). Those chompy little fuckers of your better have some good Karma in store for their next lives. I hate to kill things, as much as you hate racoons, but even the cockroaches won’t survive this one. Once your meat harvesters are gone, your noble white and grey cuteness can return from exile, and you, my friend, can walk among giants. FIN If ANYONE, copies ANY of this, I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN :biggrin: Have a nice day.