The grass was brown.
matted. Everything
was winter naked.
No duties.
no letters from home.
Just a slip
of paper with
a drop of LSD.
A way to pass
……….the day,
the emptiness.
And it wasn't like
the way
I remembered.
Except for the metallic
taste on my tongue.
and the tension
crawling up my back
when coming down.
The leaden sunset
of the night to come
loomed much too long.
I scored a nickel
of creamy looking
smack from Lizard
that he and Dimartini
had brought back
from Amsterdam.
Put it up my nose.
and then……
the barracks room
was a golden palace
and I was molten.
Like an infant wrapped
in swaddling cloth...
and the music
on the stereo…
was like a chorus
of angels…….
but it was just
the Rolling Stones.
I had disappeared
inside the euphoria.
So the morning
after Christmas,
I knew that I would heed
the warning:
Do not feed the tiger.
yes
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