Scott hung stolen-gold
from his skinny crack-neck,
loved selling it too,
had a briefcase full of chains
& pocketfulls of dough.

And Mister Joe,
Mister Joe our resident chemist,
kept the bowl full,
forever cooked **** up,
invented special blends of snow,
crafted pink rock
that made us forget
our troubles,
blew them up
in smoke.

Louise, O sweet Louise,
you craved the tube snake boogie
and having your clam baked
with every two-legged man in sight.
You tried to save me more than once,
but I couldn't take a number,
be another knave.

Janice, wild-eyed sister Janice
spoke to us in multiples
and it was strange
how we all understood
your fractal language
& enabled you
to turn the pages
of your pain.

Well my sick friends,
you're all dead now,
except you,
you,
you the smiling child,
the schizophrenic one.