Power

by Sam M. Phillips

Loose powder,

Like pollen,

A quick one,

The land of milk and honey,

A great smile crosses your face,

Would I do any different?

Right hand side,

The higher plane,

A medina,

A halo,

A palace,

She handed me the pipe,

Then I left.

A ball,

Compressed into shape,

Green and brown,

Sweetmeats and candies,

Barren walls,

Outside,

Dust.

A weird possessiveness,

I am not yours,

It took me a long time to discover,

A vague aura,

Everyone moving around,

It just won’t stop,

Can I adjust?

Feeling excluded,

Expand the club,

Realising more of a distance,

Automatically,

We all become cold,

It is sudden.

Crowded household,

Depart early,

Need to put some good stuff together,

Or the dogs will have me.

Cold shoulder,

Ten years on,

Brought out of an abyss,

Stolen story; please report.

Seventy two hours

Is all it takes, really,

Are you a slow learner?

Spinning out of control,

A beautiful lover,

Or an ugly seductress,

Staying off,

The hardest thing.

This is the last time,

And even that is a lie,

It’s a miracle,

To be free for even a moment,

Though, really,

I have no intention of going back,

I must remain strong.

Fall into each other

And find comfort,

A great time, outrageous,

Light heart, strong heart,

Save me.

Body language and a unique sound,

First take, and much is already too far gone,

Too weird,

An easy climb,

A hard drop,

What do you really want to do?

Describe the journey,

Yet I don’t believe you,

Sing on, and I am entranced,

You’ve got it, you’ve got it,

So beautiful, so haunting,

Never leave me.

Pick up the instrument, the humans,

And give them a fine tune,

Chemicals are required,

Or other drastic action,

Why we never taught

Where this leads?

He wants to rock,

Move his hands,

Move his feet,

Like his heroes,

Like legends,

It takes something special,

But to get there

There are many ways,

Look beyond the obvious.

Smooth gig,

Normally it is murder,

The audience,

They are piranhas,

We escape by the skin of our teeth.

Staccato burst,

Machine gun chords,

Hysterics and a blown mind,

Bubble and contort,

Crowd in,

And then fuck right off.

Famous day, long day,

Nearing its end,

Wish I could say more,

But I am unconscious,

My friends grieve me,

Not yet dead,

But dying.

A light and a pin prick of pain,

Then floating,

Then flying,

Then nothing of which I’ll ever speak.