Stoned moon

The platinum moon in full,
Rages behind streaked clouds of jet black,
Lone star to the left illuminated in a silvery reflected glow, We roar in to a fresh spring night,
Just a hint lingers of late winters grasp,
Crisp evening air caresses my balding crown,
The chilled drafts cool my flushed skin,
Fuelled by my burning soul,
The dark opens its gasping mouth,
Revealing teeth of leafy green upon gums of bark brown, Pressure of nature at speed squeezes my round cheeks, Eyes and grin of a badly drawn life,
Carnival caricature of a fun fare ride,
As nights nocturnal demons linger beyond the cones of light, Eyes glow red in the distance,
Maybe just beyond the next bend,
The watch my passing,
But they will not catch me this time, will they? Talons seep from every hedge row,
Spectres rise in swirls of smoke and vapour, Swirling in my passing of ever decreasing circles,
The deeper I slip into the abyss of my life,
The closer their grip comes,
Treading water in body fluids,
Of my own existence.

This is about the after dinner service dash out to the supermarket for microwave burgers and beer, plus anything else on special offer. My mate, a fellow chef in the kitchen would roll a couple of joints and we would hop in his MG and go shopping at 11pm.

He did have a theory that if you drove at 40mph, you could have the roof down in the rain, you cant, if you were wondering.


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