A Poem in The Meeting Brownlee Anthology

Dusty Angels

Psychoanalysis.
Psychosis, stasis, paralysis.
Mitosis of me.
I'm the kid with the Id.
I'm a Jungian Archetype.
I'm gonna ruse you, use you, to get what I want.
Black-topped plunger.
Silver kiss of cloudy thought.
Push, breathe, push. Push me to another rush.

Angel dust my guardian dear, to whom God's love entrusts me here,
Ever this day be at my SIGH...

Entering dreamtime. I time. My time.
Push and born again.
Not Jesus, But my friend.
With the rapier wit.
Riding on that stallion steed
To where my thoughts matter.
My thoughts are matter
And matter is me, mad as a hatter.
Ego extended, he stabs me where I live.

Moshing in stygian shadow.
Slamdancing with Satan,
When the demons join in.
We roll to a pool. Steamy hot sin.
Singeing my lowbrows. I'm so close.
Devils with their mission, by my medicated condition.
It's a smooth bliss bath,
Lapping against my laterals.
I'm jacked in, jacked up, enough for this.

The walls came down all the way to hell, and so did I.
Falling through mindshafts.
Grabbing at thoughts. Nuggets unattended by the miners in my head.
I slam hard into the sofa.
Attempting to recall my pleasure minutes.
Footnotes in the headers of my mind.
Or footers? Turabian.
Kate was never jacked in, jacked up, enough for this.

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