amsterdam

this poem began in Amsterdam, land of canals and green plants
where men like animals attack psychoactive chemicals
and space flavored cakes make AM waking up easier said than done
in Amsterdam, I feel the presence of Rembrandt and Van Gogh
as I digest pizza dough that made my personal dough deposits decrease by several euros.
there are dildos everywhere I look
even little children seem to have them in illustrated books
it looks like the Dutch alphabet is:
D for Dildo
I for the second letter in Dildo
L for the third letter in Dildo
so on and so forth.
this poem began in my hand while the other held a piece of cheese, delicious
my eyes feasted from watching an armada of rental bicycles outnumber cars five to one,
under the red sun where to my right dimmed windows supply local sights of all sizes and colors
around the bend, a medieval church stands high with red fluorescent lights reflected in its windows,
I try to think but vowels are missing from my memory,
instead I see graffiti-covered walls and train tunnels that blend orange spirit with coffeeshops spinning
caramel cannibus
Amsterdam's rasta presence is felt like red light windows by fiends strolling the narrows,
liters of beer are poured and then barrels,
invisible etiquette melts multiple brick bike paths where it looks like time took a hit and allowed itself to pass slower,
like a jagged Jamaican flower re-rolled with more skins than invisible jets in the sky
i attempt to fly and escape this plain state of mind
but instead,
this poem ends where it began and I drift toward another cafe, if only to feign interest in the food menu.