Two am

It happens on shuffle about two am
the mushrooms kick in and I’m back again
there are cartoon tug boats pulling cars up Elizabeth Street
and on the corner with Bourke we finally meet
you’re the she devil waiting on the stairway down
I see you and I want to run but
there’s only water above ground

my next decision anchors me to your face and my fate
your forked tongue a serpent flickers like a snake
then you grab me by the arm and march me straight to the pit
where we romp and we stomp to a demonic beat
I look around for the band but they’re across the the street
I squint and I lean over oh my god it’s Canned Heat
the boogie is like music no one has ever played before
my head is grooving in a groove demanding more and more

the shots keep on coming the baskets of joints
the buckets of mushrooms all make their point
I’m driven I’m driving the boats make bow waves
sloshing against car doors wipers swishing at rain
there are clowns in the building with clown smiles on clown heads
their clownish white faces fill me with dread
then the road starts unwinding like a ribbon in the wind
I’m on it then I’m off it then I’m back on again

but the buildings have gone there’s just more water and waves
the car wallows I flounder wondering will I be saved
as the light in the sky gets wrapped like a present
and the ribbon like road forms a bow for an instant
before everything lurches the world tilts and I merge
with blackness then foliage because I miss the next curve

there’s a thumping on the roof by a man in a dressing gown
there’s blood on my face from my head running down
there are broken teeth in my mouth making me spit
but the fog in my head means I just sit and sit
I see a smoking red engine wrapped round an ethereal tree
which like the devil woman it seems was keen to meet me.

A cautionary tale: of lines of wasting time of doing shit I’m not proud of it

My brain has been fried by too much pills and booze
my lungs have been fibrosed by too much smoke and hooch
my liver has started failing now from all the injectables
my addictions have been diagnosed as damaging collectables
my complexion has been described as 20 years past my age
the amphetamines did that and being in a state of perpetual rage
my twitch is due to uppers and the paunch the sloth of coming down
and don’t talk to me about cocaine, is there any going round?
the munchies sometimes fattened me up but then the crack always thinned me out
who needed diet pills? I did because I was kind of always in doubt
the cough syrup got me high on ephedrine I could always get a six pack
as long as I went behind the chemist with cash paid out the back
my muscles are wasted my skin is pocked
it’s fair to say I’m generally fucked

some of my junkie friends died young but I admit I barely noticed
unless I was trying to get clean, and yeah those times were pretty grotesque
it’s funny what getting clean meant to me it was a sort of an exchange trip
which never really worked because backwards I would always slip
so here I find myself old, no friends no family to want me and I’m really in the shit!