When I was younger,
I was a shaman
chanting melodies
that I hoped
would change the world.

Perhaps, they did
for my people;
the schizophrenic
gypsy stoners earth mother
worshiping airy words
burning the creative
liquid juices squirting
over our brains
like a drop of LSD on a sugar cube.

But now,
I can feel the age
in my emotions.
Time drags me
through, smoldering campfire
ashes smoking to the heavens…
where the stars
look like they’re rotting away
inside the mouth of space.
Even shadows are afraid
to hide in these dark corners.