In the Garden of Tomorrow,
at the City on the Edge of Forever,
listening to the howl. Seeing further adventures.
More bulging, spaces filled.
Definitive choice, culminated, made.
Smelling scent of blooming petals,
Rhythm and Sensation are the of scent…
Truth crushing vanity impeding destiny.
Working with oblivious hands.
Regrading this degraded corpse.
That was my life.
Now smudged; decayed.
By golden tongued dilettantes.
Stole my insanity away.
So, here on ward 67 I go sane…