by Robin B. Lipinski
1968 VW bug, a deserted road, and dropping acid
Powerful white lights darting amongst the blackness of night
before Jimi Hendrix learned how to fly with angels.
AM radio blasting tunes while the Apollo program dusted the Moon.
It was a night to remember if only one could remember
trying to think through marijuana smoke.
Some shit called, Viet-Nam, something about killing Viet-Cong
but the girls?
Ah yes, free love, free times, free lives, and sex.
Remember Buck Rogers? Hah! What a dick.
Or how about, "Danger! Danger, Will Robinson…"
And people say I'm crazy, for shooting, ingesting, and smoking shit?
(Time break from reality as LSD truly is a trip)
UFO's, 1947, Area 51, now that my friend, is a trip.
And… Hey, what the fuck?
What's that bright light overhead!
Oh my God, it's true!
There are flying saucers…
and my arms, what the hell?
I'm a toaster.
(The end is, if you choose to do drugs)
© 2015 Robin B. Lipinski
Robin B. Lipinski claims to be addicted to writing. It helps that his good dreams are other people's nightmares. There is not much to know about him other than he shares this planet with you and others.
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