Thursday, June 28, 2007

The Martial Art of Cupboard Living


Little Joe smuggled some
evil ketamine (100%)
out of Cambodia in an eye-drop case.
When he went there
to pirate-like plunder
the girls,
the firm teenage
hopeful smiles,
you could buy it in chemists.
At that point
he was using needles,
for the
horse
tranquilizer
stopped him sinking
into his boiler room
and the noose.
Well, he did used to live
in a cupboard
with pictures of heavy weights
(Buk, Dos and Celine)
to keep him company
and candles and tissue paper
when he got that nasty itch.

So, he cooked it up
and we snorted it
in a clinical white room
in Bangkok.
We,
Teemu and Crazy Marcus and
Joe and me,
damned in our glorious fantasy
that is Asia.
Sniffing and lying
back on the slow bed,
it hit,
Joe grabs my sweating hand
and in we go…
WHOOSH!
Snow I became
and the floor, a sofa,
My friends were primal gods,
howling,
AAARRROOOOOO!
The blood of all
the slain in the Apocalypse,
dripped through the ground
and our molecules were cleaned, mean
and dry, like the coming ice age.
I scuttled to the toilet on my hands, l
egs akimbo.
Then suddenly,
gravity hit,
everyone.


Reality.

Just a faint echo of the drug,
grinning in
our reptilian hindbrain.
Walking home at an early hour,
feet not touching
the ground.





Jason Michel

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