Valium was the good witch of the North

Its gently falling snow soothing the sores

Of my fevered, mad mind…


Wound tight with the blight

Of a crystal, cocaine night

Starless, Mars-lit bright

My veins are quite contrite


My face is like the moon

All eerie, bloodless gloom

The son is in its tomb

A yellowed, tattered plume


My lips are rather blue

A deadly, ghoulish hue

But the sky’s sardonic view

Says more abuse — it must ensue


So these asteroidal things

Garbed in leather, metal rings

Collide and crater me with stings

Such are free love’s sweet flings


And the neon New York night

Smiles cruelly at my plight

Office buildings twinkle spite

Like tombs dancing on life trite


Copyright, David Gottfried, 1997


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