Tripping New York City’s Balls

Tripping balls
on a crowded New York City street,
and like all the lights
coming on at once
I get it….

…the point of life. Get it?

Instantly I invent

a new way to see
silence and another dash
for quotations.

Get it?

It has to be ok
where I am at.

Hallucinogens are visibility

for blind objects.
We trip all the time.
We are just blind to the beauty.

And whatever the beauty is
I can’t help but express, expect it, attract, get it?

Human streams of atom orgies
crowd hurricane baby faces.
You can kill yourself
but there’s nowhere to go but you.

I must make peace
with here
before I can get
anywhere else.

A man waves down a taxi.

I am certain,
it is the most beautiful thing
I’ve ever seen.

Get it?

If you listen
to the traffic
the truth is parked.

I cry big romantic New York City tears

to water my consciousness.
I am a farmer.
My crop is awareness.
I am rich off my own energy.

Get it?

I let go
of all letting go.

I am Manhattan

and it’s India outside
and I am cold
and it’s 1885
and I don’t care to find
who I used to be.

Get it?

I give to the world
by breathing.

I am twenty three

and it’s eighty seven outside
and I was seven once
and fourteen too.

Get it?

I am here
to be where I am.

It’s so easy to figure out,

so hard
when you think it is.

Get it?

I hope I never
not get it.

You only get it

when you get it
so get it.

Smile like a cobweb,
I am all of your thoughts.
Get it?

I get the point of life.


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