Whimsical Nuancies

Sitting under a crimson sun,
sparks of pain,rooted in me,
I exist,in time I'll be gone,
to a space,free of threat.

A man trying a full split,
like my conscience
that has been cut open,
full of assumptions,devoid of love.

A lone crow, flying swiftly,
to avoid terror,be rid of pain,
my head pounding, like its sultry wings,
I fly, into the world of Ginsberg

Marijuana,arse-ripping sex,
an ascetic, in search of the dhamma,
I travel with him,
naked,balls hanging free.

My soul,cursing,
pleading,for hurt
to vanish,like subtle raindrops,
so magical, and free.

skulduggery, trickery-
trying to elicit answers,
an innocent childlike smile,
drab,like stained overalls,so grey.