A Very Long and Confusing Trip

my hands were trembling as i thought
“will this change me forever,
this tiny little piece of paper?”
    it did.
i put it on my tongue and waited.
i hoped on the drum-set
and me and derek generated
music out of nothing
as we normally did.
    nothing.
i began to see the music.
    something.
i began to taste the music.
    definitely something.
i felt a pain in my cheeks
and realized a grin had been
glued to my face.
i saw angelic halos around
every light source.

i felt the need to walk,
so we walked.
my mouth begged for liquid
so i entered the store.
i was hypnotized by the cooler
and all of its magnificent vibrant colors
and eventually chose the drink that
resembled a glowing radioactive slime
not for the taste,
but for the color.
color was everything.

we walked to the sandpit,
climbed to the top of the water-tower
and gazed out upon
what seemed to be the whole world,
but it was only a grey-lisbon falls
on the verge of rain,
looking more beautiful than it
ever has or ever will.

again we were on the move.
we took to the woods.
it was calling to us
but all we found
was trash;
old metal barrels
that did not belong.
we cursed them,
even threw them.

we made a fire
on the side of the road,
and watched the cars
drive by,
and we laughed.
we thought about the
police and what we
would say if they
came to extinguish
our fire.
“we’re drying our socks!”
we would tell them.
seemed like a perfectly
valid reason
to have a fire on
the lawn of a
water-treatment facility.

then derek remembered
“that kid” saying his
parents were out of town
and that he wanted to party.
i did not know that kid.
none of us knew that
kid, only derek, but
the idea of a warm
house instead of
cold rain was
all the convincing
i needed.

but he wasn’t home.
we stood in his
driveway, lost.
someone tried the
door and it was
unlocked.
so we invited
ourselves in.
as they rummaged
the basement
looking for booze
to keep us warm,
i stood in the
entryway, pacing.
my mind yelled
at me, told me
that we shouldn’t
be there. that it
was not right.
i thought of
punk-a*s strangers
rummaging my own
home while i was
away and got
filled with rage
when the door opened
and “that kid,”
the kid which
i did not know,
stared at me like
i had six arms
and four heads
and the only words
that found their way
to my mouth was
“hey man,
where you been?”
like i was his friend.

he gave us beer
and in return
we gave him
a party.
a dozen people
found their way
to “that kids’
house. a dozen
people who did
not know his name.
everyone except derek
only knew him as
“that kid”

and when the
party left, bottles
of booze went missing
but not by our hands.
“that kid” made threats
to shoot the culprit
and he even grabbed
his .22 from his room,
and we laughed.
it was not funny but,
we laughed anyway.

when that kid
was sulking upstairs
in his dark
living room filled
with dozens of piles
of dog-s**t,
we walked over to
the minibar
and grabbed a
$100 bottle of
scotch, unopened
and said “well,
he’s already fucked...”
and we cracked it open
and we each took a shot
but nothing more.
and we put it back
on the shelf and
decided it was time
for us to go.
and we left.
the sun was rising
and we walked
back to derek’s
basement where the
odyssey began.
and we slept.