Whose drugs are these? 

I was bred to write 
naturally born but 
genetically engineered 
to be a rehashed, 
recycled, reincarnated 
version of old Archilochus 
updated and 
annotated 
cross-referenced, 
hypertext, protocalled, 
recalled, and 
stone walled. 
Or perhaps just stoned. 

The recipe was easy enough: 
take the genes of one hippie, 
splice with another,  propagate in a body, 
and just add psilocybin. 

Instant Archilochus. 

It’s good to know that 
the synapses that I’m firing off 
right now at this very moment 
will still be felt 
eons from now 
moving unforeseen forces 
in ways that I cannot even begin to fathom. 
Mysterious, but also comic are the ways of the gods. 
Mocking us by giving us such fine roles in this wonderful play, 
but not letting us know how it all turns out in the end. 
Like killing the audience in act one 
they never knew what hit them. 

Whose drugs are these? 
Surely they are not mine. 
How did they creep so deftly into my veins? 
How did they cross the synapses of my neurons? 
All without me telling them to do so. 
If they are your drugs, then I’d be glad to give them back to you. 
Here, just put your brain up against mine. 
Ah, if only osmosis were so kind, 
I would but send a spark along my dendrite, 
cross the synapse to your axon, 
spark the bridge between you and me, 
neurochemical, chemicals for neurotics, 
don’t take em if your not one, 
they’ll make you one if your not. 
I’ve got the seratonin if you’ve got the synapse, 
cut open your skull an put your brain against mine 
we’ll mindfuck till we both shoot our Freudian loads 

Whose drugs are these? 
I wish I could remember Occifer, but you see, 
since I am on them, 
I can’t seem to remember to whom they belong, 
nor who I got them from. 
But if you’ve got the money, 
then I’ve got the fifth, 
and I’ll plead it all long, 
till my Jewish lawyer the snake comes along. 

Whose drugs are these? 
I found them in some pagan religion 
Tightly wrapped in eons of dust 
I uncovered the box and opened the crate 
all before realizing that it was Pandora’s gate 
Whose drugs are these? 
If not mine then yours. 
If not mind, then yours.