Jungle-Fever Euphoria
Ding-ding-beat,
beating drums, humming,
humming a useless song.
Listen and repeat.
Hoping for epiphanies
while we watch the sun cast glitter
upon Autumn leaves.
Maybe the truth
resides within a song,
or a voice,
a bed made up
or a room made neat,
or the groove
between our toes,
where the sand beneath our feet
collects to make its way to the street,
from the ocean that represents
freedom; how come?
Is it really so grand
that we itch to fight for it?
Ah that itch! Damn
the restlessness!
But here we are going deep
into norms, zombies
chasing green lights
and leaving cookies for Santa.
A dream world where ghosts could be
whatever we haven't yet thought.
We don’t understand what we need,
how our choices, guided
by an urge to breed
are mostly made without us...
We're the aliens,
puppets suspended into space.
Merry, merry,
merry Christmas. I believe
in drug-induced euphoria, I've seen
the god that wasn't. A smell
so familiar. The essence
of things ever filtered,
adulterated by senses
meant just to survive.
We wash ourselves in a fountain
of beautiful reasons to be,
bubbling up from nowhere
in our jungle beneath the stars.
Happy New Year,
wild Summer,
sweet dreams.
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