DAYS OF BEING WILD

tears falling like rain drops
years lost in the eye of the storm
cigarettes used to gave us head spins
and the green stuff made us laugh
I remember the days of being wild
smoking behind trees in the oval
a gateway to a cut and dried mango
leaving us breathless and thirsty
oil lamp burning at half intensity
brandishing axes in the streets

three quarters of a bottle of vodka
laying sprawled out on the road
cars avoiding me as best they could
paralytics state of stupor
pressing the horn, holding it down
trying to wake up the rich people
throwing rocks at moving targets
keeping tabs, counting the strike rate
pierce some holes and pull the lever
one foot off the ground, drop the load

binge drinking and chain smoking
there's a wet patch on the couch
unable to find the last cigarette
it's going to have to be bumpers
the stains of time gathering dust
those were the adventures of old
the silent march of bull ants
working together on in unison
sand blows in from the open door
furniture aligned by the stars
flotsam gently floating downstream
the abandonment of all ambitions

there's a time and place for everything
we all have our own way of doing things
there are smells and sights to behold
we need to close the pandora's box

there's effort and there are results
we all have moments that make us cringe
there are colours we cannot perceive
we should all count our blessings