We poets watch the world our eye
    glued to a microscope. We pick it
    apart and we lecture in slow motion.
    We examine nerve ends as blood explodes
    when your soul mate breaks your heart.
    We've felt your pain and suffer with you.
    We are undertakers dressed like clowns.
    We are clowns dressed as undertakers.

Every night we drink sacred wine
to excess and get angry for no reason.
We're trapped in a play we've written
since we impaled us in ourselves and
perform each night at curtain time
like dancing bears without claws.
I love you. I don't know. Do I?
Throw an ashtray and accuse me.
I'll curse your love and beg for it.
We sleep, perchance to dream.

The poet's curse. We feel your pain.
We'd rather not but we have no choice.
We need to put it on the page like a
tiny red corpse we never forget. Weep and
pray and deny a god. Death lives inside you.

Blunts passed around looking for who will pass this round and hope to get a clean paper
Sparks flying high paving a way to stardom making waves in chasing the benjamin paper.

Imagination is filled with too much dark reality that we still refuse to acknowledge
Coming from a different state of mind made growing up for me a race I had to acknowledge.

Nothing beats the race we refuse to handle ourselves running from the reality that present itself
Curled up with a familiar stranger smoking silently hoping a new lonely stoner will recognise himself

The sun is shining
And the sky is so blue
So lets all dance and
And have so much fun too and
The sun is bright and I'm
I'm in love every night and I love
Smiling so bright and I love
Falling in love with her under the moonlight.