A Squall Line in the Florida Keys
Heroin
What color am I now? Umber and sienna...
What color are we now? Umber and sienna...
like the sweet hashhish resin,
we shall soon be silver fog
and dreamlike boats
upon that Sea...
where all the waves are bass beat...
where all the waves are bomb.
What color are my eyes? Eglantine and rose...
What color are we now? Madder and sweet brier...
catch the eyelid of a storm
that winks upon the squall line -
like diamonds hang
below her face...
where the waves are lines and rows...
where the rain is needles.
What color is the sun? Vermilion and cinnabar...
What color are we all? Cochineal and rubia...
the crumpling of gracile tin foil
brings us back to where we want to be:
we divine, godlike
coloured crayons;
where waves are gangsters on parole...
where wind is hollow tip.
--
notes
the rituals of heroin, particularly the tin foil and the symbolic meaning it may have. even the most ordinary sequence of events may, with repetition and reward, create a profound ritual that points beyond the everyday...
it reminds us of Good and Evil around us everyday...
I wrote this remembering a converse I had with my brother about how the ritual he remembered was greater than the drug itself.
--
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