Cutting a path through the sleepy haze;

What remains is sleepier still.

My blood is in revolt from the sun’s heat,

While wise words from wise tongues circle in my head.

I think of all those who have gone before,

Walked these same streets with different minds.

I feel the morning sun warm my soul,

Just like the parched paving stones under my feet.

A headrush, a bloodbuzz, a foreign feeling:

I’m suddenly outside myself looking in.

My perspective floats above my being,

And watches the man from whom it’s freeing

All thoughts and words and cares and hopes.

I’ve nothing left but pure, instinctive feeling.

This is me.