one more last needle

a race against time
a club to join the deadline is nigh
worlds apart yet so close
where are your lips when I need them the most
inside the junk bar I order bourbon and get
fucking scotch
from the bathroom struts snow white panting
followed by seven oafishly smirking dwarves
two kids play in the playground with the needles disposed last night
their mothers discuss the latest reality tv-show and giggle in their sundresses
the parade commences people applaud flags and fireworks everywhere
“I’d have stayed if only you had let me” —the whisper
of every night the soundtrack of every nightmare—
the where is insignificant no place to call home but the bottom of the sea
sharks guard valuable shipwrecks that were stripped empty a long time ago
high up in the sky perambulates a lonely cloud chasing shadows with the wind
a smiling sun ascends a mocking star was murdered —more promises tossed into the fire—
“I’ll keep my promises” lied the postcard that is now a faint torn memory
                                                of a junk dream that was engendered in an infertile field
papers scattered in the wind
dreams succumb to reality
the end of everything
a race against time the results are poor repeat the course
chase time
are you still around?    here’s another needle

We Saw them Coming

during a serene night at the lakehouse,
on a weeklong trip, we thrashed the place belonging
to respectable citizens with respectable jobs,
their daughter was a junkie and a friend—
until we almost razed the place to its foundations.

we saw lights in the sky, the spaceship hovered above
the steaming lake, home to a ghoul whale sprouting infernal green flames;
they looked at us from the windows, we sat on the porch, too stoned
and drunk to move, petrified,

we laughed at the thin, tall men in uniforms coming toward us,
we beckoned them in for a drink and some pills.

they partook, said they were
from the Intergalactic Police for the Criminally Sane
and we told them welcome, we’ll be your best customers.

we popped it all down, pills, acid, uppers and downers,
a lethal mixture, we were all over the place,
down in the darkest pits with the ugliest motherfuckers
and high up amidst archangels,

the alien cops lost it too soon, too insane to withstand the power of
ice and acid—we should have been long dead, they told us,

we believed them; we knew it. apparently,
not even the lord of the underworld wanted anything to do with us back then.

the whale remained on the surface, once or twice tried
to devour the spaceship, only broke its teeth on the hard metal surface,

it breathed fired on it, the monster grew weary of the endless pointless efforts
and returned underwater, waiting for us to go for a swim, determined
to satisfy its lust for lost souls and hopeless wanderers.

we gave the cops some beer, a tall bourbon, some more pills
of dubious origin. they popped it all down, suddenly liberated;
from hunters they became prey,
more spaceships arrived,

it became a spectacle to be seen, like a twisted comic-con with
too many damn cosplayers escaping misery,

we remained the only sane people in the room, Emily and I,
despite the countless substances flooding our bloodstream,
slowly killing our hearts and livers, rapidly awakening our minds
into new realms; more cops stormed the place, they were all taken aback
by the acid and the pills, drinking bourbon, pouring drops of lsd
in their cocktails, snorting blow to go for just one more round.

they were one of us, hunted; we corrupted them, we laughed it off,
and the whale scoffed, still waiting for its mad lust to be satisfied.

come morning, we woke up on the porch, all alone; heavily hungover,
headache, arms shaking, everything hurting, numb, unable to walk,
to talk, barely able to breathe. few shots, something popped,
we were back on track and went for a swim,
defying the ghoul whale that suddenly was too horrified to approach us,
maybe because we set too many cop starships on fire and it felt
we belonged, finally.

like we did, for that one long week we were all there,
in love and in crazy,

we loved each other and the lakehouse, the isolation,

nothing else we needed; the dream died,
so did Emily, and I steal sips of bourbon as the tears roll down my eyes,
once more traveling back to insane times I hardly remember yet
vividly experience in my dreams all over again, trying to regain the
youthful hopes and dreams and aspirations that drowned
one long junknight in another lake.

The bombs are Falling

no matter where you turn your gaze to, destruction
occurs; countries ravaged by civil wars,
terrorists blowing up buildings over centuries-old insipid disputes,

cops kill people, demonstrators kick the living shit out of cops,
dictators promise war to help their population forget their poverty,
the whole world on lockdown, most countries fail
to provide enough vaccines and the virus mutates as is its wont,

it too wants to survive—it has nothing against us,
it just wants to live like you do.

only the nukes are missing, an asteroid cruised by, waved
hello and muttered “I’ll be seeing you”.

everywhere you look, from the pandemic to the sick junkie,
it’s a world of pain, of desolation; people lose their homes,
unemployment skyrockets, we cancel literature and cartoon characters.

the Great Depression begot a generation of brilliance;
then came the economic bubble and sired a
complacent generation of demanders.

with no Churchill or Roosevelt or artists,
we’re sinking below the bottom of the pit; a new
generation shall learn the world through touchscreens,

a generation that won’t understand the world beyond
the threshold of their home—unless it gets foreclosed.

the endless nights seem nearer, the stygian mist of nothingness
enshrouds us all—Mars remains too far away and the goggles of
positivity were crushed by the boots of marching countryless mercenaries.