ride snake

used to be clichés
now they fill me
what doesn't kill me corrodes me

can't see strength if it's there

i’m called back to organic chemistry

another tour of duty in a dirty war
but i renounce drugs every week
what do you do after burn out?
sign the next lease on life and

renew your nerve cells, now more

fussy and prone to pain, prone to shame

the ridicule of regeneration, is it a

good deal, good enough to keep going?}
my girlfriend drinks once or twice a month
to excess, usually involves a bottomless pit of misery

so maybe she's real deep into the game, deeper than me
but i don't know, i'm not keeping score
somewhere somebody is retching at the cliché
of calling life a game, somewhere
in someone's reality, "reality" is not a game

it’s what you can get away with, the cliché is true

i just misinterpreted, like a literalist, for so long

rich with delusions, soiled with delusions

rife with opportunities for hallucination

by now i'm a pollock painting
splattered with a million layers
looking back through the colored cobweb
seeing there was never any thinking straight

gnosis
nobody can convince me
of their philosophy, gotta think for me

and one day, i'll come crawling back
to whatever womb i can find