How much potential is sat in rooms
Infused with smoke, booze and angst,
Stained lungs coughing up lumps of wisdom,
Odd poetic meanings slurred over whiskey
holy… Then forgotten by morning?
Philosophical arguments working up into wild crescendo,
Only to inevitably crash and fall out of tune,
Silent ambience of contemplative stupor with fixed
holy… Eyes gazing piercingly through carpet textures.
The reek of fermenting thoughts settles over the room,
Burning the roofs of noses with its acrid vapours.
Continues travelling up through cranial jungle,
Every time one more tree is felled and another
holy… Being loses its home.
Forced to evacuate and find new lands,
holy… Hoping to be given a guiding hand,
But if the tools are not present it’s just another one
holy… Lost to the vortex.
As Burroughs knew See Through life is not the linear but fragmented, and continues travelling up with its acrid vapours. Eyes gazing piercingly through fermenting thoughts carpet textures and find new lands. Given the right tools a new medium can become everything art is The Pieces created from all. Odd stained eyes gazing up And Find cranial jungle lost to the vortex working up to wild stupor crescendo, only to inevitably crash silent Truth ambience. And how much potential is sat in rooms?
Caspian Hedberg is a young poet living in Dublin.