pent up
in pints
of poisonous
thoughts-
knowing
that just one quaff
could
bring heights
greater than necessary
in this confined world
of discontent.
a singular toke;
wired to dulled senses,
leaving
a shaken
not stirred
vibration
that spills itself
into disenfranchised
illusion...
could be the onset
of many missions
that have
no missionary value.

but it was there!
aware
that it was there-
beckoning,
constantly,
until
participation reigned.
rising from a sick stupor
with kin
glaring.
stumbling
into the fowl outhouse
of imagination,
inebriated folly
follows.
implimentation
evolves once more.
process undone
in an unconscious
state of obliged
twilight moments.


Had a using dream and wrote this poem to rid myself of the guilt even dreams can induce. Written:  Aug 7, 2006