ON FARM GAS

i had drifted 

into a lighter

version of this world

where my headache
was a golden hologram
up above my crown

& intensity

crept in but politely 

via the open back door

~

freedoms
strange
twilight
tastes of ghosts 

like nostalgia

but with a seaside kick

& that kind of chemical metal tang

like blood would 

on a hot gun