You see,
I am high,
I am so fucking floating on a cloud.
The world is incomprehensible,
and my vision is blurred.
This body feels heavy,
but I feel like flying.
I am clearly not in the right mind.
And when my mind wanders,
I write poem after poem.
Like a poetry machine, I keep producing
words that rhyme, words that don’t,
like that’s the only thing
I am capable of doing.
Oh, now I understand why those artists
smoke weed and pop pills.
When you are up in the sky,
you see so many things to grab and manifest
into your own alchemy.
Too bad these drugs I take
are legally prescribed to fix my head,
and thanks to them,
I feel more insane than ever.
The flying poet
in Poems
Comments
4 responses to “The flying poet”
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I ‘d better remark before I forget where this poem is located again. I left just after first reading it, had formulated a well thought out response, and then couldn’t find it, or briefly found it and couldn’t find it again. This has gone on for days, mostly because I don’t find your work here on torn words, torncorners.com. Whatever, This is the first poem of your’s I’ve found here. It’s a good place because I dislike Instascam. Blah, blah, blah.
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Maybe because of the above reasons,this poem seems very familiar. I think I’ve read it, or something similar before, maybe two or three on same topic. At least it’s not another love. life. loss, or nickleback philosophy tripe.We all revisit topics. You seem to always find personal, interesting spin on things. This confessional / observation is honest and straightforward. The point of view is direct, sarcastic and funny. The subtext is subliminal and tragic. A mocking cry for, and rejection of help. It’s also dubious, because artists can hide behind their work..
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It is an oldie I found in my private folder, not sure why. Perhaps I planned to submit it or something. I’ve got no time to hunt for zines and submit these days.
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Paracosmic 
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