Night in Amsterdam (a beat-style poem)

let’s ditch sobriety we don’t have long…
through smoky neon corridors we stumble
ogled by locals who have left that sharp neurotic clarity
for a soft emerald haze

soon crumbs tumble over jumper
the scents ground into the coarse carpet of bug-infested halls,
the walls rumble with droning bass and electro-beat.
The first wave came
along with haunting flashbacks
to pages of suicidal drivel on cheap paper,
Amongst a well-initiated initiated crowd,
Who playfully whittle this weakened grey matter,
Nudging and urging towards a world of incomprehension
I’m Trapped and tangled and forgotten
in some wisp of time,

and cursed by a chain of petty words
to ponder for an eternity…

I doggy-paddle out into that psychic vastness
in this bustling city,
surrounded by human artistry,
and religious cults,
through that neurological realm,
I met the cast of Freudian epics
and their Minds waved fibrous arms in the dark
seeking some logic

But finding only empty words.
Empty words. 
every itch and tic, tic, tic
reminds me of my body as machine
as static arcs surge through my face and limbs.

I’m lost in a crowd which teems like a whorl of salmon,
Every glance is suspect.
I swallow a shriek as maps melt into Mondrians.
later the red lights
the cluttered exhibitions tap on glass
wearing velcro smiles,
a pity swarms these booths
The Lord of the Flies.
Wide-eyed hoodies lurk
whisper offerings of dust

like synthetic specters
slithering through the slender cracks in the crowd.

But we escape…


NB: Featured image is by Michiel Buijse. You might have already guessed, but I was reading a lot of Ginsberg before writing this poem…

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