Under the Influence

I am under the influence.

I am under the influence
or ultraviolent radiation.

Yes, I said “ultraviolent.”

I am a ball of tinfoil in the microwave,
and I am about to explode.

Heck, I might be a microwave
inside a bigger microwave.

After all,
I am under the influence.

I am under the influence of
art I do not understand.

Queen Dido succumbing to Hecate’s charms,
willing against her own will,
Lady Macbeth unsexed—

I am staring at a blank concrete wall
until it stares back at me.

I am under the influence of the ice cream truck
outside my window, playing over and over
O When The Saints Go Marching In

I am under the
O
How I Long
To Be In That Number

Microwaves with bullet proof vests,
using an ammo box to keep the bookshelf stable,
too many books.

I am under the influence…

Books, music, police sirens, the fountain in the middle of the pond,
they influence me, and I am under said influence.

I am happy to be influenced, because I also
influence myself.

When I look in the mirror, I become the mirror.

You think me strange. I think you are
under the influence, and unwilling to admit it.

At least I admit it—that is my salvation,
least the first fruits or the first domino to fall,
tragic event horizon, I’m not sure the word, but
confession frees one from accusation,
yet frees one up to judgement.

Mea culpa

However, here be it said, I am under the influence
of hellfire under the seat of my pants by which I fly towards glory.

I am under the influence of heavenly things, hellish things,
the Spirit of God, the spirit of the age, the guitar molting in the corner,
the flickering Christmas tree.

It’s still up—the Christmas tree—I’m under the influence.

I am King Odysseus. Earth is Circe’s isle.

Heaven is Ithaca; Hades, Hades.

The bag of winds has just been deployed.

Aeolus, give mercy, for we are under the influence.

I thought I had eyes that saw presciently
into the threads of the Fate’s prurient seductions.

Turns out I’m not special, and there
really is
nothing
new under the Sun.

I am King Odysseus, and I am dead Elpenor;
the fleeing ship as well as abandoned cargo.

I am already drunk on my sobriety,
and will still
be having another glass.

After all, I am King of Ithaca,
and Home is far, far away.