is the blood of the gods
a delightful delusion
that lifts me higher, than the other kites, torn and ripped by the wind.
is me, cranking my bicycle at high speeds, going down hills, without fear.
is an energy
that the desperate principal cannot shake
I counter, with positive energy
like a one-two punch
and knock him against the ropes
I rely on my rhymes
like Muhammed Ali.
“Float like a Butterfly, Sting like a Bee.”
He comes for me, and I get him again.
At the end of the day, I am higher than the morning
like a drug addict, high on his own supply.
There are no needles, only my words
speaking to me,
The principal is lower than dog shit
I can see it on his face
as he mopes across the parking lot to his car.
Professionals stare at me
with love or hate
because I am so high.
I play golf
and the high school boy
knows my name,
“Mr. Johnson, the course is yours.”
Pink clouds and a smokey sky
are my alchemy.
My ball is struck with new-found energy
My mind tells it where to go
“Go in your hole.”
A red retriever runs up to me, and wants to play.
I have something.
“Go home,” I say. It obeys.
the darkness falls on me, like a curtain, on my performance.
My friend has been trying to reach me.
He surprises me,
on the golf course.
“I’m so lucky we are friends,” I say.
I drive home, listening to My Heart Will Go On, by Celine Dion.
Today, is the same.
Could it be, the days have stayed the same
while I have changed?