It tingles from my lips to my toes. My eyes closed.
Music sells me tickets to my happy-place,
and I forget the bad the sad the tragic,
Going further and circling to terra firma my conscious defects
The beat hits home like a million Hiroshima’s,
The boom makes my head nod as we wave my worries good-bye.
With closed eyes, we observe,
DNA of dreams and colour,
Fading and reappearing on the inside of the eye,
As golden, on-a-warm-summers-day rhymes,
Equate sounds with colours,
And our heels make holes in the ground.
To the tunes of our content,
Our fingers twitch, and shoulders shudder,
Human reduced to bobble-head,
As we're reunited with our past,
I can see my life when I crunched candy last.
It stops and I collapse,
It is sugar for my blood,
Hypoglycemic with my face in the mud,
I have nothing to say.
Copyright © Chris Grundy