the 6th sense.
my senses
are entirely open
as I crack the vile
and let my mind
venture from my body
to a new place-
a new stratosphere.
the earth is spinning faster
yet I am completely still.
focused, emotionless.
captured by the radiance
of the Asian woman
dressed like a geisha
bringing back the life
of her ancestor's passed.
I feel a tear forming
for her beauty.
a beauty that transcends life itself.
a beauty I've never known
and as I close my eyes
the vision passes
like awakening from a dream
that's all too real.
I am left alone
to contemplate my future.
I may be a seer
or a lunatic.
whichever it is
I am compelled
to change
whether for the better or the worse
I will become what I've always
wanted to be:
some kind of god
of poetry, music and wine.
a better man
driven to the edge
of brilliance
or total insanity.
Keith Wesley Combs writes poetry from his home in Tri-Cities, Washington. He is from the school of Bukowski, Kerouac, Fante, and Lowry. His works delve into the world of debauchery and Dionysian life of his hometown and the seedy sides of the cities he has traveled in his youth. Keith's work has appeared in Pearl, Main Street Rag, The Chicago Record, Dead Snakes, Carcinogenic Poetry, Struggle, and many more.
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