stop counterculturalism now

Nothing to write
Not enough cough medicine in my system
Or too much

I have felt that something is wrong
That something bad is going to happen
To me or to someone in my family, perhaps

I don’t want to believe that
I’d rather find out that I have grown a healthy paranoia in response to natural events
But what fun is that?

It burns when I breathe
And when I dream of you sitting near me
And I feel the lack of moisture in the air

I squint, and I see tiny rotating red drops
I see molecules and atoms coalescing into chemicals
Chemicals that rise and fall with your breath

Marketing companies run advertisements about diamonds and silver
To equate love with objects for the upcoming holiday
But we all know love is chemical and about as random as a natural catastrophe

If ominous tides are approaching
And I am sensing their growth
Perhaps I can turn a chemical storm into a night of stardust

That’s my guess
At least
What’s yours?

---------------------------------

A thunder cloud rolling around the sky
Tossing the oceans into the water
Pulling raindrops upward in an arc or fountain
Into the sky

A pretty girl smiles at me as I travel along my way
Pressing me against the wall and sliding down my spine
I think of you

Hop across the atmosphere and give me a kiss
Wait in the sunshine
Your skin is a crisp dizzy rainbow

---------------------------------

In my fitful sleep
You wait, restless, arching across my bed
Diagonal and languid

You are dangerous
You are seductive
And I enjoy every weakness, every flood, every sugar-cane hangover you bring me

I begin again across the street
Conscious of the sun on my skin
Denying all my chemicals and love

We eat peaches because we can
We talk
We write stories to display the messages of our hidden chemical transmissions

It would have all been worth it
If you would just wake up
If you would remember what made you so happy
If you would just wake up

Please let some good come from this bad situation to come
I don’t mind if you let Delilah get paid
If I can feel the wind through my hair again

It’s the Piper
With wax on his wings
Humming his chorus to himself
With white earbuds, Live on stage
Dressed in black with white edges flowing over him and around him
Like the inventor
He is a writer; he never forgets