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FILLING UP WITH TIME

I feel that I am filling up with time
Not full of days like some ancient sage
But full enough to notice
That the great glob of time within me
Is beginning to ferment into a bitter hooch
That dulls me into stupid, hoochy thoughts
I don’t understand you
Everything moves too fast
That’s not music
What’s with all the tattoos?
Even though I swore back in 1967
That I would never think those thoughts
We are but paltry flesh balloons
Filled with the juice of days
Fermenting away until we swell and burst
Psychedelic splatters on a cosmic sidewalk

Comments

Sometimes the little man living in the cell at the back of my skull whispers some very strange stuff to me.

...another psychedelic balloon drops...

Between rhythm and resonance - reading it again I just caught how the 1967 at the beginning ties into the psychedelic image at the end - I think this is one I will come back to for inspiration. I especially like "... a bitter hooch/That dulls me into stupid, hoochy thoughts" because it's so casual, it could almost be conversation, but it tickles the ear in a way that ordinary speech doesn't.

(OK, but one thing ... what's with the shouting in the title?) :)