My Naked Lunch

high on Burroughs

As the whistling sound reached its climax

A loud thunder sent shock waves down his spine

Waking up from transit moment of fog

Where he was reaching out to God

Solemnly he absorbed the mist

On reflection he saw the sun burning

God breathing, oozing

Painting his nails to burgundy

His veins swollen, reflexes failed to synchronize

To the epileptic brainstorm

Sprawled out to the corners of bed sheet

Convulsive lapses ticked him

Voices muttering like raindrops on parasol

Lights turned to ‘bokeh’

When deafening silence was broken

By poetry, tinted with transgression

And demons clashed with god

On the thin membrane he floated out of his body

Offering his bet for winner

Reviews

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wow..that was intense..you burned those images into my mind..brilliant