The Trip

I, am high.

scotch fever rising,
the temperature, falling,
world, imbalanced,
the neon streets, whirring,
eyes bedazzled,
and pierced through the forehead
with a tribal arrow, I,
am high.

Afloat, a helium balloon,
music inside I, I inside the music,
swirling in images of
loves bygone, and those yearned,
off of lips, tits, hips, napes, hair, eyes,
bejeweled ears and mascaraed lashes,
singing along with those soft sultry voices
ringing in my brain, I,
am high.

Of wins - losses,
regrets - rewards,
pleasures - pains,
hellos - goodbyes, I,
concoct the cocktail and,
Off of my accidental life, I,
get high.