day 8
bootjacks,

and she picks it up naturally
seamlessly
almost too easy  
   too familiar
the tobacco sprinkled with
that sour white powder
re rolled and smoked

she keeps taking hits
thinking halfway that
maybe mixing drugs is where things begin to falter
but this is where they pull the powder out their socks
and line it up for her to try
innocent, baby
with the dollar bill in her hand
between her teeth
and propped beneath her nostril

why do you want to be here so bad?

why do you find it so easy
to trace the ears of strangers with your tongue
and find comfort in their warmth?

why is it easier to mean nothing to each other?

when will it all be enough?

when will you realize you
are still made of stardust —

rest.

you will find that stardust again.