Acid Trip.

Red light,
world spinning,
at this moment
I could hear Vinyl
scratches on it
were smooth music
but it wasn’t Vinyl
it was something
an acid trip,
traveling I was
a mere balloon seller,
a seller of cats, spheres,
squeaky animals –
traveling I was,
to places,
to centuries,
the vinyl dictating my journey,
the only way out
I suppose; out of this.

Now I land
at the street
of Los Angeles
at Hollywood,
in the coldest war we ever saw,
Norma Jean Baker,
our Marilyn
her face, a balloon
a sexy balloon
with the impression of a lipstick on it
is everywhere,
the vinyl progresses into a saxophonic tune
I sell my balloons,
to eager passersby,
dissolving everything
landing in Scandinavia,
in the dark ages,
the vinyl transcending
to a more sombre rhapsody;
snow, reindeer, unknown people
looking at me
with queer eyes.
I present a balloon
twist it about
making squeaky noises
into a weird contortion
proffer it to a little one
then everything again dissolves,
all part of the ecstasy
Now I land
at Saint Muhgos
2100, A.D.
I see nothing
but rubble and ruin;
The vinyl records whisper air,
no one to sell my balloons to
I sigh,
Surely, these corpses
wouldn’t buy them?
I air a red one
burst it
rest the tiny shred
on the ground
everything dissolves
Bermuda Triangle
I see sunken ships
the vinyl records screech,
suddenly, storms;
everything blurs
I feel the balloons
snapping my grip,
from them,
rendered unconscious.
Now I land,
in my kitchen,
red light
world spinning
then unspinning,
the Vinyl now,
plays Requiem, Mozart’s,
and I realize
with numbess
it is the day of the apocalypse
Before this war ended me,
I lost it all,
my balloons, my only belongings
This acid trip,
this ecstasy,
this escape,
was very costly
after all.
I do nothing
but lay,
awaiting the explosion
that will consume me
the vinyl plays,
then mutes.


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