High Eyed

This is the first poem I performed in my Performance poetry class, and the brief was to take inspiration and use it like the Beat Poets did. So this is about my experience on mushrooms.

High Eyed

As my saliva collects, I sit,
And wait until my head ,my face
With their overbearing weight
drop through my mouth, in a laugh
and stick at an angle on his shoulder .
My body is no more.
But my mind is there,
Aware, of how funny it all is.
The advert with the goose on t.v,
And the whole universe, and him and me
All slow in motion and reason,
and I know that we are there,
but not why or how,
only conscious of the here and now.
And the programmes we do watch flutter past
At a speed faster than us,
Faster than that living room.

Until I see a face.
Central to the screen.
Of an old bullfrog of a woman,
Or rather,
something in between.
Morris dancing with her dog,
And I can feel that she is real,
Not something from my mind, or his,
And to me, in this state,
Her face may be funny,
but her life should not,
but it is.
And I laugh,
And I debate,
that the only thing she ever won,
In all her time
was University challenge,
in the sixties-the only time,
she shined.
And it’s sad,
That her life should act as warning
to my high objective eyes,
but her wastage is a blessing
and reminds me,
to live life.