A day in my magical life

the smog sits heavy
like the carcass of
a dead relationship

in the rhythmic jostling of
a cycle rickshaw
lies the irony
of the ego spins
we derive
from the race
for being the superlative

the sedatives are strong
they blur memory
and sensation
but pain can't be extracted
like a rotten tooth

my fingers itch
my eyes twitch
looking for the next object
to scrub
while my mind fiddles
why ? why?

my late father's voice
reading out aloud
the laws of insulation

I know he is dead
I know the word "hallucination"

I close my eyes
and I jump off the cliff of self
into me

now I scrub
my soul's lamp
waiting for
some real magic.