Some kind of treasure is hidden
In a closet in a room in a house in a city in a country
I don’t know but that’s not the point—
The point is the joint lingering on my fingertips
And the process of walking in mint chapstick steps for hours upon
Hours upon days upon weeks upon geeking out on the rim of a cave wall,
On a day when falling over the ledge is a nonchalant choice—
When voices were battering his eardrums, and noises are dumb and numb
In the womp womping of a balloon gas trip, stripping reality from the drugs
Real fucking quick— But that’s not the point—
The point is the mission, the vision I had that told me, “I don’t need all of this shit,”
I need the wandering, the plundering through the cave wall,
The thundering weather murmuring over my shoulder and its colder
When you’re in a sleeping bag sagging with wetness in the dark
Of the night and that’s the plight I have chosen,
I suppose and I know the holes are in the walkway
Next to the graffiti wall and the rocks are digging into my socks but
I don’t care too much, I’ll keep walking, because
That’s the point.

As make-up bled from the crevices of my eyelids,
And I scanned my trashy mess self— a blessing.
A blessing, last night, when we all took a flight
Through our hearts beating simultaneously to electronic beats,
And the streets had been a dancing fleet of bouncing asphalt
In our psychadelic irises, scenic voyages to other dimensional rhythms,
Reality and beauty had overcome their schism

And we baptized ourselves with graffiti catechism,
A temple of art meeting the sunrise with colors beyond our prism,
A eucharist of pancakes, the last sacrament of our song-fueled religion
And if you really listen, you’ll hear silence in the music,
If you choose it— Perfect silence, eradication of violence,
Lines on the table that need some snorting, but we’re courting the drugs
With gracious love, not hunger, naive greed thrown asunder—

Do you wonder how we knew each other like a band of long lost brothers?
Yes, like brothers, platonic lovers,
Shoved to the side by a ruthless society, magnets to trouble
And odysseys of intimacy, synthesizing soundless roars,
We knew each other before, sometime— see, our souls were aligned
To meet at this time, this place, this MDMA fueled chase,
I would never erase this.
No.

I would never erase the make-up trickling down my face,
Simple breakfast made with grace,
Simple lips smacking with blunt taste,
Simple talking done in haste so no friendship would be at waste—
I would never erase this, drugged up to loved up,
I’m proud to look fucked up.