The Breeze in a Post-Flood Budapest Summer

by Shasdam

Girls in heat,
 stuck to the seats of Soviet buses.
 White jeans having staring contests with cross country T-shirts.
Tarot card readings under full moons for the Xhosa elder,
 smoking lavender and collecting Soproni tabs.
 Aliens from Saturn shredding lullabies,
 drowning the sounds of snoring and wine theft.
WAHR!! sounds the Marley sirens.
 Friend-beasts lounge under easy sunbeams,
 their human companions reminiscing of Stairway,
or the Ithaca gorges,
bumping Grew Up Fast
 and Verde Terrace
as the Familiar once again shows its face.
"I hope it doesn't turn into this next time."
 Philadelphia colored hipster bars.
 Girls with fringes.
 "Can I get three cigarettes and a light?"
 They whisper of escapades out on the 4/6 tram.
The only living boys on Istenhegy.
 Something like Beauty and the Beast
 hazed over by Resident Evil.
And orange juice.
1UP!
I am like a plant.  I need plenty of water.
Thoughts of an adolescent black bear,
 dashing through a varsity red community college,
 shattering glass menageries
 and Springtime daydreams
 making their escape from classroom windows
 in an attempt to mingle with WSKG frequencies
 and the interconnectivity of all things.
Someday, I'll be old.
 Little black dress and 90's headphones.
 Someday, we'll all be old,
 nodding off during Wimbledon
 in some fancy smoking bar around Трг Републике,
 talking to a middle-aged waitress with a Serbian face.
 Black Nike shoes.
 Long blonde braid.
"How is szex?  It's very important young man like you have szex."
I had a strange dream last night.
 I dreamt of a girl in a lifeless Russian mask,
 slowly rising from the bed to stalk my movements.
 I dreamt of a pink centipede the size of a rectangular mop head.
 I dreamt of strangers,
 disguised as colleagues,
 in an unfamiliar city,
 with unfamiliar trams
 and unfamiliar tram stops.
She left her raspberry rosé lip gloss and a pair of earrings.
He drove home with the windows down,
 taking drags of a Camel Light
 and 3AM's deep green valley.
"What did you do today?
 Oh,
 I only drank three korsós of Belgian beer
 and ate a ridiculously good pulled pork sandwich.
 You're getting paid for this.
 Have some fucking respect!"
Slovak beers under the watchful eye of The Primatial Basilica
 of the Blessed Virgin Mary
 Assumed Into Heaven
 and St. Adalbert.
 Kids riding plastic three-wheels and shit.
Lieke diggin' The Whipping Post.
Slowing time.
 Slowing time.
Wine-induced dreams of rollerblading through OTP Banks,
 and Baltimore Orioles speaking Hungarian,
 arguing,
 spitting tobacco.
 And the lány from the lake.
One intellectual breeze,
 passing through everything,
 including,
 but not limited to,
 the grey kitten on my wavelength.
Ease my passage into that dark night,
 acetaminophen.
 Blonde hair.
 Blue eyes.
 Sárkánykirálynő.
Toothless girls riding multi-colored chocobos.
 Tamed rainstorms breaking the heat.
Two black-haired angels smoke cigarettes beneath St. Stephen's Basilica.