H I G H

Location

What get’s me

H I G H

Like a fruit

F L Y

on an old piece of Betty’s apple pie.

Is not sugar nor spice nor everything nice,

It’s not dramatic and cinematic,

Heart shaped or made of plastic.

You can’t string it in pearls,

Or drink it till’ you hurl,

And if it’s power to be abused,

I am surely unamused…


 

What get’s me

H I G H

like Bill

N Y E

cloning a narwhal’s eye

is not thalli - yum or lithi-yum

HELI - YUM or berylli - yum,

For anything chemistry related,

I’m surely un-elated.

It’s not foundation of virtue

or a super late curfew,

And if costs six figures,

It’s probably not worth the vigor.  


 

What gets me

H I G H

and soaring through the

S K Y

on a magic carpet ride

is this ever flowing current on which we rely.

It’s his crooked front teeth,

A hanging Christmas wreath.

It’s the mistakes I made thrice,

Before I learned to play it nice.

It’s a seed in need of watering

or a southern woman hollering.

It’s tripping on a sidewalk,

or dancing on a night “walk.”

It’s the entertaining and captivating

and has a certain way of elevating.

I’m kept amused and confused

at this life which we abuse,

It’s the mundane, the insane but most importantly - it’s the brain.

lying deep deep the mind,

ever persistent and most difficult to define.

pushing me to the brink and urging me,

to keep my own spirits

H I G H

















 

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