Lilt

Those cone combed faerie folk, swinging
from the chandeliers again, thinly cultured,
parasitically drunk on foam fume foam
and ragged pop,
I take a torch to them!
I take a torch to them! -
mad egg that I am –
and scatter and evolve my way
through bucketloads of DMT,
pinioned on an oozing pineal gland.
We have the zest! - And the
s-q-u-a-s-h pip puck sucking energy target, Wee Willie Winkie’s
eyeball to brain overheard a woman,
talking to a man,
the sweetest whisper in the slipsky

night. Open tear ducts to
champagne and let the love monkeys
feast the relevant scientific data,
leafy canopies, jungle berries,
squashed ginseng energy drinks
propped on beachy
health trends. In my

room, I’m swift to ignore the wind-down
sprite jerks juiced on play junk
from the juice yard. Terence had a zinger
that he bought from Dr Leary twice
the price and sold to me as
untamed shamanism.