I have been high
on the bottle,
the rich taste of red wine in my mouth
blackberry, cinnamon, tobacco, leather,
Another glass, and another.
And perhaps another.
Until all I know is crimson liquid.
Then brandy or port or absinthe.
Or all three.
Pour me out of a taxi and take me home.
I have been high
on acid.
Pills, blotting paper, microdots with happy, hippy names.
Colours bleeding into surfaces into shapes into light.
Music holy with new tones and textures to touch.
The revelations, the meanings, the weird,
finding a new religion in a carpet.
The warm fade and glow
of coming down.
I have been high
on adventure,
on exploration, on discovery, the wild, the different, the strange.
On art, on words, on music, on performance, on poetry.
On the strings of my guitar.
On winning, on deals, on negotiation.
On a high-five finish
On landscapes, seascapes…
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