by Sean Portland

Created on: April 23, 2009   Last Updated: October 29, 2009

When the drugs wear off, a light-bulb flutters above
the puddles, the people.
The streetlamp at the end of Pasteboard Street is calling
my name, a buzzing white cryptograph,
a billion binary photons, falling like confetti,
flipping like dollar bills, coins, casino chips,
poker tokens, dice
and promise.

It is deciphered by a liars mind on fire
as fool
Calling my name, as a clock tower strives to strike thirteen
and the sky.

I look around.
No shoes,
but socks on aerosols.
No laces,
but strings fixed, and lifting veins.
No smiles
but the serpents hypodermic bite,
pushing orgasm after orgasm in a loveless vortex.

The concrete has proclaimed with rising altitudes -
The high and the hungry
are the grounded, the carrion.
And one roulette
whose gudgeon is the pinion of a mass,
fractured, likened in limbo, fractured again,
will not stop.

When the drugs wear off,
I sit under the light-bulb at the end of Pasteboard Street
and there behold, with swollen sensations
all the eternity of raindrop rings in puddles.
I see the odds and spotlight falling
on one decision.
A liars mind on fire deciphers the light:

Fool.

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