I’m living in the psychotropics,
by gershon hepner
in ambience of Ambien not,
and yet my mind controls the topics
that lovers all consider hot.
Though Prozac hardly is prosaic
for people who’re depressed I feel
elated always, it’s Mosaic
to treat one’s virtual joy as real,
for though God once prescribed for Moses
two tablets, he destroyed them both,
with caveat emptor, one supposes.
To take both tablets he was loath,
and so am I, when offered Zoloft
or other psychotropic meds,
for rhymes inhabiting the soul loft
raise from the basement heavy heads,
and lighter than the air I float,
in psychotropic mode while buoyed,
without a licensed doctor’s note,
as stonehenged as a drunken Druid.