Big man learns to lay low
and take things slow.
Little electricity
runs up the fibers to the brain,
sings me those happy songs
with the smell of monsoon rain.
Fly over it.
Over those beautiful mounds
amidst the piercing ringing sounds.
Smell of honey and pale root
soothes as they run down the throat.
Dream,
as if life is a fire
raging through town
burning down
the sounds of children screaming
leaving behind life not worth living.
