THE FIX

Bed -

the afternoon grave -

had me trapped.

Too much a hold to be called weight;

a desire too much a drug

kept me late.

My decoder off -

a world wind of sense

cut and pasted and gone.

Before the last dregs of sanity,

my spirit

could sense wrong,

and so accepted

the alchemy of meat

and the varying tides

of chaotic thought.

               Too blissful.

                                                                Too addicted.

                               Uncertainly aware I am caught.

                                                               I know

                                                    my mouth drips.

                                                I remember

                                        the world calls

                                             but who wants to escape

                   the death-peaceful walls.      

My ear near my watch,

the  blast of each  second a  certainty.

My  minds  eye

opened  by  a  far  flung  thought,

saw  eternity.

Copyright © Jason Horsler

10/09/96 - how deep is the afternoon nap?