Ottawa, 16 yrs old

Long fall afternoon,
the day no longer vacant.

That old year's mescaline haze :
a dialect of perfect squares.
A voice of reason in an LSD phone-book.

Every day has it's end,
but sometimes only words define us.
The past is now a concept,
all those old trips
in a quicksilver album for eternity.

You're pure reason was my cure,
a prism of mental constructs...

Time and time before
like the trace of smoke, the chemical door.

A drop of liquid eyesight /
just one breeze with inquisition.

She was wild in her peace,
she whispered atom bombs in silence...

and the day was ten million firecrackers
and the hour was pure,
like a cocaine Monday by the phone.

Lizard breath in carbon spades,
may the world one day remember you

REM ... This poem is an audio track available @

https://soundcloud.com/jc-luff/ottawa-16-yrs-old