Night in Amsterdam (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 jumpers
scents ground into the coarse carpets of bug-infested halls,
the walls rumble with droning bass and electro-beat.

then the first wave came
with harrowing flashbacks
to pages of suicidal drivel on cheap paper,
nestled amongst a well-initiated initiated crowd,
Who playfully whittle this weakened grey matter,
Nudging and urging towards a world of incomprehension

soon 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 cult,
scraping through that neurological realm,
I met the cast of Freudian epics
their Minds waving 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
static arcs surge through my face and limb

By night I’m lost in a crowd

city teeming 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.

somehow, we escaped


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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