-after wordsworth
i wandered lonely as a teen
some explosive device in an imploding scene,
when there i lurked in the hardcore crowd,
even a whisper might have been too loud;
next to the reservoir, under the willows,
waving middle fingers, while ganja smoke billows.
consistent as the lights that rise
and fall inside the 9:30 at night,
i guess i never knew my place
and kept running with no hint of fright:
fourteen in all i saw at a glance,
and disappeared quickly in their slamful dance.
the mirrors beside them danced; but they
outshone the glistening mirrors in mirth:
a man poet with heart might find his way,
amidst the reckless torments of earth:
i stared-and stared-but did not reflect
on whether the show should have broken my neck:
for often, when under those willows i lurk
in stoned or sober condition,
those clublights appear as cosmic handiwork
for which i bade no contrition;
and then my soul with rightness sings
as another comet flies by, without wings.
