I emulate the
helium headed hipsters
inhale exhaling into
candied blue plastic
supplanting the air —
becoming it.

I feel arboreous
veins burst open
rupture from
synthetic laughter;
pulse grows deafening
in poor attempt to
salvage some exterior.
I vaunt the loss of
nineteen-year old
prefrontal cortex –
not worth anything
on the black market
anyways.

I revisit the
streets of Berlin
in these queer
thirty-second dreams
past the priceless
squat house rubies;
kinky leather stroboscope;
gusts of liquid ecstasy –

and then back
in Neverland.