Here's your cocaine

okay okay...4th review in....I've never touched drugs in my life! So if you can relate..so sorry. But impressed that I can write persuasively. Thank you!

Sit with me, and I'll prepare something special for you.
With just a spoonful of sugar,
I'll sweeten-up and embellish, this dead crow that once flew.

Get closer.
Your turn; take a blow of this snow.
I'm prepared to catch your nose bleed, inside my porcelain bowl. 
 
When finished,
let us dance beneath the chandelier. Let us gaze upon the dense opacity.  Let us see these new atrocities.  Let us observe, watch and listen, as our pupils begin to dilate and darken.  

And if we sing; this hare in my lap, the fish in the sink, we'll use them as our audience.  They will remain silent, but harken.

Watch my friend as the clock strikes twelve.
Snow White and her Prince will meet us here very soon.
If lucky, she'll bring you Cinderella's dress tailored in fine silk, and colored in blue.

Want more?  Use my razor to cut through the looking glass of maladjustment and calamity.
Regal with me; enjoy this moment of rolled dollar-ed bills, and frivolity.

I'll shuffle the cards.
Another poker game might make you feel light
as a feather. Bare breast dipped in dopamine, just adds to the pleasure.

The table can walk, the bird is alive now..hear it squawk.
Hickory dickory dickory dock.
When the clock strikes twelve the devil will come.
He'll bring the wine, and he'll bring the sweet rum.

((White powder coverlets the senses))

It's odd; you know?  How the ice turns soft. Soft becomes cold. Cold becomes hot.
Stranger yet...last nights spaghetti. It got caught in my throat, it still sits in my stomach, all tied in a knot.

When the clock strikes twelve, my neighbor will come.
He's my Cousin's, Sister's Brother, born from a different Father and Mother.  He'll bring us more cocaine.  But I must warn you. Can you keep a secret?  He's a little off. Perhaps a little insane.  

Author's Note

I can't possibly try to share with you my inspiration here. So I will instead..plead the 5th. But as all of you know, I'm always looking for a new way to mess with the reader. So my intent here, was to overwhelm the senses, much the same way that cocaine does.

Reviews

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

I adore such trippy trips sideways round the honeycombed mind where inside of every crevice a rhythmic pop pop on an easel will claw away all fabricated nuances of what poetry is 'supposed to be' and deliver a brand new dish of mind bending delectable delicacies of imaginative play~ lovin on the cross pollination of fairy tales with urban drawl~to be completely honest with you I don't have to guess at all at the magiks that spark such creative wonders since my brainpan is chock full of squirming swirling images in broad surreal screen 24/7~ this banquet of exotic fare I understand better than everyday poetic ramblings~ this is Dali tripping the high wire fantastic with Nina Hagen~ LOVE IT~perfect meter also if I may add which adds to the mental cadence of the reader~

[R J Askew]

Aggh, and the last verse! the arch wit of it! The mocking, yet strangely reassuring voice of the host. I love it all.

The poor sods who crave their snort are missing out. All they get is a physical sensation. But here you have given the metaphysical mind the best snort going! BRAVO!

[R J Askew]

'The table can walk...' this verse is profoundly disturbing. Our grip on reality is vibrating here. And when ever I read clock, clock, i drop the l and the whole thing slides into sub-conscious sexual iamgery. But then I am an odd i confess.

And the image of the white power covering the senses evoke funeral shrouds for me.

Aggggg, I am smilescreaming when I read 'last night's sphagetti'. It almost seems normal though! But then it is normal in the world you have conjoured up. I swear I will be dreaming about that damn knot! In fact I can see the dream now and the sphagetti in my imagined dream is beginning to move and I can see little faces at the end of each endless sphagetti strand. People I know? Whose faces? This is an insane reading. Can one go insane while reading a poem and stay sane?

[R J Askew]

'Live dangerously,' said a very dangerous thinker.

'I'll shuffle the cards' ... again the archness of this conspiricy of risk, chance, temptation.

'Bare breast dipped in dopamine' ... sigh. I surrender. People take white powerds to make them feel all buzzy, but I say this, your words do JUST THE SAME! You have created a perfeclty legal high. But this does not mean it is a safe high. (more)

[R J Askew]

Yes, of course we, and you, want more, more, more, more of this kalediscope (sp?) of disturbance.

It's exciting.

Razor/cut/glass/maladjustment/calamity ... all strong, strong words. And of course those who have, sniff, sniff, danced with the snow queen will start getting all twitchy at the mere mention of razor, razor, razor, razor. And for others they will start thinking of glistening red flows.

There be danger in all this. (more)

[R J Askew]

I've read a mountain of poems here recently, some of which are very good, but this is the best. Why? Because it is surreal, intelligent, cunning, charming(literally), dramatic and bloody well written.

The verbs at the start of lines work well for me: sit/get/watch and the invite of the first three lines is enticing with its risque promise, delivered in part by the word cockaigne in the title which also contains a sexual signal. (more)

[Thea]

You showed your creativity and brilliance in this poem again, Muse...This was totally interesting and excellent...Title got my attention, haha! Great job...
:)))

[Priscilla Sayers]

Wonderfully written. An intriguing story.
You never cease to amaze me.

[Mark]

Still trying to gasp my way forward to someplace of recognition, where I can let go of the bannister and catch my breath, and just possibly get a little glimmer of comprehension, which is quite eluding me at the moment. My strongest drug was weed, which has quite the opposite effect of coke, from what I gather, but your flitting frenetically from feeling to phrase evokes that sense of invincibility, yet withal without control, that the users of blow seem often to recount. A mad, disturbing piece, Beth.