a response to ingesting hallucinogenic mushrooms
Giggling at picked apart flower petals so loud no one can hear you
Climbing trees to find conversations unsuitable for ground level audiences
Wet sneakers, bark and dirt stained hands and grins teetering on the brink of a welcomed insanity
And finding everything you need in staring at nothing
For minutes that seem like aeons
These are the nights we live for
Riding the sofa into the recesses of the morning into the recesses of ourselves
We are the wanderers who have found pathways no farther away then the end of our vision
On the inside of our eyelids
We are those who walk the razor's edge of epiphany
Balancing the fine line of nonsense and profundity
Turning the music up
Just enough to scare away the masked demons of our satiric lives
But not enough to piss off the neighbors
And we dance ridiculous
Stumbling two steps towards the entrancement of warbling light shows
We smile stupefied
Engaged in silent conversations that defy words to explain them
We laugh like children
Trick or treating in November
Because the night always offers strange candy for those who know how to ask for it
We are the merriment not intended for social scenes larger than our small sect
we are the clowns
The jugglers, the sideshow attraction
And ringleader
And we are far too busy entertaining the standing room only crowd in our own heads to explain it to you
we are the poets
eating lotus petals plucked from the pages of our lives' chronicles
Poetry by David W Durney
Read 788 times
Editors' choice
Written on 2008-11-24 at 16:38
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It's about mini breakdowns followed by an inexplicable upswingGiggling at picked apart flower petals so loud no one can hear you
Climbing trees to find conversations unsuitable for ground level audiences
Wet sneakers, bark and dirt stained hands and grins teetering on the brink of a welcomed insanity
And finding everything you need in staring at nothing
For minutes that seem like aeons
These are the nights we live for
Riding the sofa into the recesses of the morning into the recesses of ourselves
We are the wanderers who have found pathways no farther away then the end of our vision
On the inside of our eyelids
We are those who walk the razor's edge of epiphany
Balancing the fine line of nonsense and profundity
Turning the music up
Just enough to scare away the masked demons of our satiric lives
But not enough to piss off the neighbors
And we dance ridiculous
Stumbling two steps towards the entrancement of warbling light shows
We smile stupefied
Engaged in silent conversations that defy words to explain them
We laugh like children
Trick or treating in November
Because the night always offers strange candy for those who know how to ask for it
We are the merriment not intended for social scenes larger than our small sect
we are the clowns
The jugglers, the sideshow attraction
And ringleader
And we are far too busy entertaining the standing room only crowd in our own heads to explain it to you
we are the poets
eating lotus petals plucked from the pages of our lives' chronicles
Poetry by David W Durney
Read 788 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2008-11-24 at 16:38
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
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Editorial Team |
