Rolling Poetry

Tale of the Cowboy
And the Bad Bag of Shroom Caps
Haikus Told in Rhyme

What’s behind his mind?
The cowboy rides, leaves mankind
His soul, he shall find

By river at night,
Fresh fish over flames ignite
Fish, horse, man....campsite.

Out near the wide plain.
Bag of Caps, a potent strain.
He opens his brain.

Dusk to dawn, it blurs.
Cowboy lays naked, just spurs.
Mushroom trip occurs

Vision quest or dream?
He wakes in laughter and screams.
Caps still in bloodstream.

Shrooms, concentrated
His pupils dilated
Mind lubricated.

He sees what’s not there.
That which hides behind the air.
Shadows everywhere.

Reality shifts
His existence seems to drift
Identity rift

Who is he? A horse?
Was he ridden here? Of course!
Man and beast, one force?

He stares at his steed.
Are you me? Me you? One breed?
(Should have stuck with weed...)

The cowboy’s face grins,
As his limbs transform to fins.
Scales replace his skin.

Oh God, why a fish?
He feels his face, still horse-ish.
This was not his wish.

No cowboy features
Now an equine sea creature
Grasping for neither

He claws his horse face,
His tears have a fishy taste
He cannot erase.

“These scales are a lie!
I am a cowboy!” he cries,
And the world complies...

The cowboy is back
He picks up his boots and chaps.
No more eating Caps.

Under the dark sky
He tastes his thoughts and asks why
This Wrangler, so high.

Will S.