Imaginary Mistakes

All my friends are victims
Of profound psychological problems
Severe conditions, where generative genitals
Spray the walls of their minds with nymphomaniacal tendencies
In pink and blue and in a rainbow hue
And, termitic instincts to fuck viscerally crawl up
Dementia is soon a hostage in a Stockholm syndrome situation,
Jacob climbs the ladder as jack once did over a beanstalk
But it’s not all birds and bees, no,
It’s spiritual, transcendent, non-physical, meta-physical
And I relish the stories all my friends have to tell me
More than I enjoy their other aural smut
And for an infinitesimal moment in time
I am unable to extricate between the thus depicted products
Of my self-inflicted and illusionistic delusions
Time relapses as the cosmic boom in my mind
Implodes and turns into a ball of brushed sheet metal
And explodes again to unglue my eyelids
from the blotting paper of dreams
Which find their long lost focus in the intense glare of the evening sun
I ask mother what time it is.
It’s 6 in the evening. The sun behaves like my last lover
Begging me to let go of her arm, so she could go home
And like the common covetous Romeo, I,
Ask for but one last kiss; or here, at least a promise of dawn
And all my friends are gone now
I wipe my eyes clear of memories and other filth
Take one more quick glance at the sun and allow it’s departure
So that I may rhapsodize my enthusiasm to my friends again
And let them know - that I don’t believe
In their Imaginary existence;
To me they’re as real as love



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