The Great Bike Ride

Top of my driveway, or top of the world?

Gazing out upon the ominous galaxy

that is my neighborhood,

legs spread over a bicycle seat

my brain convinces me I am God.

She is bathed in amber streetlight,

with a jacket of jagged shadows.

Soon I will be immersed in flickering gold

and tendrils of black.

While the normal folk sleep,

a veil to this beauty lain over their eyes,

I am a fire.

The only passionate soul still fighting.

The recipe:

6 Tramadol

3 Klonopin

4 Tylenol 3s

Take the whole handful at once.

Wash down with tequila and coke.

Let it sit for forty-five minutes.

And now I’m off.

Down the driveway and into oblivion.

The asphalt like a flock doves,

soars beneath my feet

and begs my eyes to join their folly.

A white watcher screams as I zip by,

its ambushing glare sparks

a brilliant elevation in consciousness

and I continue my mission

to tear through any familiar reality.

The amber and black,

the white glare,

the garage doors and dark windows

begin to blur

like I’m in a Monet.

Blood like warm maple syrup,

I seep with euphoria,

and believe I will evaporate

into the satin starlight high above.

A mission to tear down the wall,

attacked with gusto, under threat of death.

Slicing through what they see

as a stagnant world.

But it speaks to me of surrealism,

and the importance of the sublime.

It welcomes only those with the guts to face it.

With the aid of my trusty chemicals

I face this beast of perception without fear.

And by the end of this night,

I will have seen more than most.