Introspection

one of three poems I wrote while tripping

Low blow the walls slide back and forth, 

buttery for me to believe in this 

melted world and 

an end to every mean.

No lightning god scares me when 

my own thunder as a year long symphony 

echoes between my skull and I see myself 

away and away and away and so

airborne that I know life's answer.

Tentative is the world in its concrete, 

I think of one person when I see something beautiful 

and the world glimmers like a lazy, 

strung-out, hungover beach day when 

the orange of the sunrays 

pirouette and chasse across synaptic 

mirror moments in the ocean's lip.