Illusions

                      by Johnny M. Tucker, Jr

 

Content with muffled-friendly chatter

     here and there, Boston’s street-

 

lights and stars twining, streaming

     by the passenger window like a

 

meteor shower just at arm’s length, I 

     relax into the contours of the car

 

seat, further into my “roll,” the mind’s

     thermosphere sailing full-and-by

 

ultimately reaching the new—exosphere,

     where curiosity greets me like a quiet,

 

generous host accompanying me through

     a blinding-dark alley and to a sconce-red

light atop a steel door, which I inquisitively

     pull toward me: Love?

 

I urge my friends to follow, but before I am

     able to fully open it,

 

“DON’T GO TOWARD THE LIGHT!” a

     voice arises, materializing from the

 

muffled-friendly chatter, from that of

     the driver  who I turn to see focused

 

with one hand on the wheel. I look back

     out the passenger window, sticking

 

my hand out amidst Boston’s streetlights

     and celestial stars flurry.

I should note that I neither endorse the use of drugs nor am I opposed to them. My mind and body do not react well to them, even marijuana. Therefore, I do not use recreational drugs. Through my poems, such as "Illusions," I strive to convey mental imbalance. Between the beauty of ballet, Hermann Hesse's, Aldous Huxley's, and Jim Morrison's work, I hope to further their theories along side mine.   

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