***
dripped on the stage
leather pants
and a flowing white blouse
eyeliner enhancing lashes
long and luxurious
cream colored ax hanging off to the right
as he looked deep into us all
and asked to get ***** –
I felt the pull of the purple rain early
became free to experience physical joy
without bounds
without limits
but with your
kiss –
iconic and stoic
never feeding the hype machine
but for public appearances
still driving the masses wild
with songs 20 years past their prime.....
I bought a beret today
and shed some tears
its color,
raspberry –

broken lines of tragic poetry
spread *****-nilly across the imitation hard-wood flooring
polyurethane broad leaf maple
complete with swirls and lines
as if it were somehow damaged in a lightning storm and forced to grow
twisted and bent
I stare into the abyss of half-written sentences
and six rhyme sets
bent, rent, dent, cent, divergent, spent
home, gnome (Alaska or little dwarf), poem, loam, roam, beachcomber
draft, raft, laughed, giraffe, bath, Taft (little town near Lincoln City)
and so on and so on and so on
til death –
grasping at passing visions and mental images
attempting to reconcile this pile into worthwhile stylings
and filing them alphabetically …

there I did it accidentally….
as if to prove the point on my head
has a friend.

Revolving floor of soreness
my pores ooze from unrest
able to fully digest
what I peruse and use for
my next ‘write’ fest
something about ****** and recess…
and the best dressed in the west
confessing diabetes….
I digress
and pretend this never happened –

slipping unnoticed
past the giant door
opening and closing like clockwork
travelling en masse
away from the center
void of life giving oxygen
making the dangerous trip
though miles of tunnels
only to try and pick up another load
from the lungs
and drop it in the brain and heart –
escaping the chest cavity
the right arm becomes my journey
what looks to be just a couple feet
up and back
in reality is hundreds of inches
passing scar tissue
and trusting that the varicose
with not make a prisoner…
all of the sudden the crowd slows
from break neck speed to a slow crawl
once again this ******* has brought
foreign bodies into the parade
giving each of us an extra load to carry
one that damages our structure
while slowing our travel –
the needle falls to the floor
as another overdose victim
waits to be found
blood rests in veins
clotted and coagulated
wishing only to make another trip around the horn –

slowly building
towards a stress crescendo
soft winds picking up volume
undiagnosed weight pressing
smashed face pressed against
unpaid bill pile
drool
staining the pain bringers –
death and illness become the standard
conversation
each attempting to outdo the other
with a more tragic tale
woe is a me-bop
set to ancient Traffic outtakes –
unable to wipe away the angst
no matter how many times
rough hands
clasp
worried eye ridges
molding cheek skin like a child with new clay
praying the answers will fall from a pore
worry lines hide youth
adult life ***** vitality
Daniel Lewis, “drainage” –

Sure,
I work in maximum security prison
grow large scale medical marijuana
have 22 year old twin daughters,
who are beautiful and without child…
a nineteen year old son,
with no police record,
and enrolled in community college –
Yes,
I have a Bachelor’s degree
I received at almost 40
served on the parks and rec. board as vice-chair
was president of a prison education awareness group
have not had any sort of infraction
for 20 years –
It’s true,
I am a white man in America
free and over 21
I vote so I feel free to complain
eat GMO free and organic
try to get in a little exercise
spend time with my wife and children as fun
enjoy the company of my friends –
I’ll concede
I am a good person
make positive choices
for not only my life
but with future generations in mind
ecologically friendly
with an eye to restoring the natural habitats……………
…………………………………………
…………………………………………
but,
I am
no
hero

I remember the passion
protesting and marching
actively involved
a movement for change
the world would have to bend
to our wills and whims
but lately,
I feel tired –
I do not want to quietly
go into the night
to turn away from the vigor of youth
and instead focus on a garden
and preparing for retirement
it is my desire to fight in the streets
to take back this nation
for its citizenry
but lately,
I feel tired –
there is a chance
real and tangible
that the status quo
will soon go the way of the dinosaur
relegated to storybooks
tall-tales of intolerance
and hate values
sweeping and sustainable
the youth movement could alter
world history
though, I fear,
I may miss the party
as lately,
I feel tired –
tired of lying politicians
weary of systemic inequality
worn down by systematic racism
grown thin by corporate lobbyists
and pharmaceutical special interest groups
depleted, emotionally and physically
by a capitalistic mass media
bent on feeding the masses
the propaganda flavor of the day….
I am tired –
I cannot watch another Botox injected
surgically altered  
plastic alien-human
hybrid
tell me what sandwich is better
or which car to drive
that my sneakers ****
this is the man to vote for
that I need a haircut
the mortgage can be refinanced
there is a pill for what ails me
…..what does it take
to live in the ideal of the United States
is there a pill that will re-write
the original Bill of Rights
to include all Americans
is there a face cream
that will stop white cops
from shooting black children
on tax-payer built streets
that doesn’t give me stomach cramps….
You’ll let me know?
Won’t you……

what will we do about the jams,
and what became of the wing…
and the wing naturally leads to the bird
it can be in the *** or head
and of course Steve Prefontaine….
we can with friends
and sometimes punch has it….
when Sinatra sang it sounded pleasant enough
and my grandmother used to get one right out of it
addicts who want better are faced with the decision
and a moose can **** a wolf…llamas and coyotes could work here too
the children’s cereal uses an “x”
and this poem deserves to be sent to the curb….
the amazing power
of the
kick –

yet another savage tragedy
ravages, emotionally,
the trap queens in bandages
screaming to their bae’s
about the vastness of calamities
blunt tips glow showing smoke blown
extensions flowing growing tired of
liars on the youtube
seeking gifs and snap-chat
besties to wrestle
with the cultural festivities
being given proclivity
to policy lunacy –
smart phone glued
claw hand and shrewdly
planning to revamp the system
with hello kitty ***** twisters
and metrosexual waterfall trips…
it’s truly a pip
these auto-tuned post baby-boomers
no relations to crooners
thinking the sooners are only
Oklahoma….
My youth tirade
is partly a parade
like a brass band on Burbon
playing unafraid –

If one has dark skin and is light on the inside
they might be referred to as a coconut.
This is but one example
of how, we as humans,
categorize and generalize
our fellow man…
What is it when you are born white,
raised by SoCal junked-out hippies
(not the flower crowd)
who told everyone during your formative years
if we never discuss politics
or religion
we can be friends……
I was left with my maternal grandparents on some weekends
by these heathens
who happened to be devout
Protestants.
I sat very quietly,
hands folded in my lap
and listened to stories from the bible
and thought to myself
and the tender age of five
“Why doesn’t this god love me?”
“What did I do to Jesus to be forsaken?”
“I am just a child!”
anger followed………
Today, I find myself drawn to a dream
a paternal grandfather
born on a New Mexico reservation
that is completely abandoned
by any living relation,
leaving me to desire connection
to the greatest family mystery
for the Temple clan…….
No amount of reading text
or researching tribal life
can ever gift me
a relationship with an elder,
nothing I can do
will ever make me a part of that culture
and with this complexion,
I may not even be accepted
if I were to try and ask questions……..
this is me, building my own spirituality
with broken pieces
of family history –

broken handle
   setting in the grass
bleached

how many holes?
     how many holes?
scrapping ice
transplanting flowers
holding soil

white fibers lay in the green grass
      the shovel
has become
handle less –

time dies
I sit awash in solitude
as moments fade to black
oblivion
could a thousand stars burning out
while 100 toddlers struggle to take final breaths
create a void like thisssssssssss


no.

------------ grasping at gasping groupers
------------ I goad distant relatives into diving without recycled air

bloated eyeballs remind me
of a different type of togetherness
isolation and indignation
unfettered and non-remorseful
inconsequential fallacies
facilitate fallout
and I leave this plane
regret laden

no...

she walks into walls as her strong points hide in public
incorporeal, I sit on a doughty shoulder awaiting reincarnation
doubting faith while languishing in purgatory
I realize the Catholics had it right
sexually abusing young boys
is the only ticket to heaven

inserting the curved blade
right next to the *******
of a downed doe
he made a smooth and easy slit
right to the base of the chest plate
the entire gut pile slid near into his lap /

surely my skin matched the grey eyes of death
as I watched him snip
a long green ******
from a steaming red liver…
the heart was next pulled and gently placed
into a hat holding a giant liver
his eyes twinkled with pride
as he looked up at me /

my first **** was a good one
317 yards
set the crosshairs
right at the backbone
bottom edge of the neck
223 bullet hit the front shoulder
and rolled into the armpit
sent bone fragments shooting
through the lungs and heart…..
I was a murderer /

the hollow carcass matched my heart
as I shouldered the load
and trudged back the 1.2 miles to camp
only stopping twice to re-adjust my doom
the smell of blood
the weight of killing
and a fat alfalfa fed doe
led me to a difficult conclusion /

at 15 I had spent 8 years tagging along to ever trap line
each fishing trip not during class hours
multiple poaching’s
and now my first legitimate ****, solo…
my head spun /

wrapping the body in a mesh bag
and hanging it in a Juniper
I looked up at my shame
and over into my father’s eyes…

it was the last time I killed…
outside of the occasional mosquito
or spider … /

irritated energy
as unwelcomed questions
surface, and show themselves in public…
not one to have my character questioned
regarding key personality components
I freak out and threaten
to quit
to leave
to scream indignantly,
but to **** it up and accept
quietly do better,
that would be something special –
red faced hate machine
bent on self-destruction
and starting over
doesn’t care about the opinions of others
disregards constructive criticism
knows better than you,
and is the best in is field –
it is not the easiest thing to admit
when one has been in the wrong
to openly take attitude
and stand tall in the face of
hostile undermining…
this,
is something I will have to work on –

tumultuous tree-hugger terrorizing transnationals
nothing timid about firebombing the research lab
desperate attempt to save cancerous mice
and one old, dazed chimp subject
laws are meant to be outwitted
outdated equipment sit in ***** buckets
sprawled across the 1972 VW van floor
new world freedom fighter
too inebriated to understand injustice is just
the lack of social equality is equal to the abundance of cultural apathy
and yet, someone has to stand up for a cause
someone must right the wrongs
perpetrators perpetuate post-9/11 discord
throwing Muslims under tourist buses
an unshaved face sadly looks to the dirt underfoot
answers evade even nature
matted and disheveled hair hides a mind
bent on defeating the status quo
and limiting monetary political contributions

facilitating sweat-lodges and peyote ceremonies
seeking Zen through external chemical compounds
in a moment of clarity a thought crosses
what would I be doing
had Jerry lived?

dog sits

black fur wet

wafting odor

I spray

Febreeze

the cat

     perched

waits

waits

waits



                    pounces

soft freckles try to hide as
auburn hair falls delicately
across her left cheek
I am captured by the moment
feelings of inadequacy boil up
and I try to convince myself
I am worth her love—
setting on the edge of the sofa
mindlessly eating a sandwich
part of me, lost in a daydream
desires to be the bread
if only to experience even more of her –
electric shock travels the length of my body
as her nimble fingers
rub across my knee
and a realization begins to take hold
twelve years in, and I still feel this way—
a single tear wells up in my right eye
and falls down, creating a spot on my jeans
signifying my lack of emotional control
when considering our love
and life together –

foreboding shadows elongate
giving the entire property
the feel of a cold October evening
when the first frost lays delicate
on the tips of the crab grass
sending sparkles dancing
across the still cow pond …..
a mounting sense of dread builds
as each step weighs
with the heaviness of broken hearts
and balding men being divorced
overweight girls in gym class
and a backpack full of river rock
at the end of a long hot trail …..
the wooden door looms
looking like the elementary school principle
after the first real fist fight
an angry parent
holding evidence of lies
the boss the day after
too much drink at the holiday party…
a shaky hand reaches for the ****
akin to autumn leaves rustling to the land below
after a stiff breeze
in the cool evening –
upon opening the door I pay for
a soft sigh passes my lips…..
he is not present
and so,
at least for a moment,
I have peace in my home –

dusty bindings sit atop forgotten shelves
longing for interested fingertips
desperately wishing for fanfare
or even faint memories to stir –
fighting against the swelling tide
I lovingly caress faded pages
offering at least a moment of recapture
lost days of importance and worth
musty scents waft through
and I place the treasure
onto the scratched and marred countertop –
coins bounce and clatter
as someone’s life, pen to page
is sold, used, for less than one dollar
U.S. currency –
a wide and victorious smile
greets the waiting world
as I again escape my sanctuary
with the last vestige of constitutionalism
left free from attack,
at least for today…
tucked gently under my sleeved arm,
a cotton blend for warmth,
rests a good book
for comfort –

watched grains dance playfully
affixed to lengthy golden stalks
the wind sways them gracefully
in-between a hidden world unlocks –
pink-footed mice run
well-trodden paths
the warm summer sun
never granting them baths –
shiny black crickets chirp in the night
while grasshoppers eat through the day
an occasional rabbit scurries with fright
and ant colonies seemingly play –
a dust covered floor
‘neath a ceiling of blue
in the middle, a ruffed hawk soars
striking fear in the heart of a shrew –
nobody suspects the vastness of life
when passing by in their car
the joys of birth, hunger and strife
within a wheat field under the stars –

meandering thoughts
of creativity for recreation
versus the idea
that art
can be prosperous
self-expression and
emotional depth plunging
for coin and
posterity –
poets only prosper posthumously
for the most part
and soft rock singer-songwriters
are a dime a dozen,
cousin –
validation from within again
as sin and winning blend
a regular trend….
the trees give no applause
or constructive criticism
but are an audience
that sway gently to the soft rhythms –
grumbling old lab at my feet slaps his tail
at the same song he heard yesterday
rubbing a worn nose on my unshod feet
looking for a toe scratch
as we both look outside for validation –

grotesque characters smash themselves against Plexiglass windows
the sheer mass bowing and distorting the transparent protector
squeezing into the darkened faux-cave for a glimpse
of the last starfish in the Pacific –
droopy fingers cling desperately to transplanted basalt
slow death from radiation poisoning
the future picture for all of mankind
little Cindy sheds a tear as discolored water flows, unfiltered
saline ratio destroyed by the introduction or pesticides
and straight petroleum
reflective properties shifting the absorption rate
oceanic temperature altered
the tree so memorizing
no one notices the inferno on the ridgeline –
facilitating the fall, politicians look to tax carbon emissions
pretending to understand
while Jupiter develops another eye
and the storms on Venus have gained intensity at a steady rate for 25 years
blaming the diesel SUV, sun worshipers get skin cancer
and ulcers –
unrepentant hordes of sheeple march through drive-throughs
signing up for the slaughter
the gods of old are coming home
and blood sacrifice is all they accept –

retracing footsteps these shoes never traveled
connecting to a lifestyle
I have never experienced
I see myself in pages of Native American texts
experiencing a oneness with the land
which birthed me
and sustains me to this day –
it is in the simple actions of nature
that I derive peace
seeking to be as balanced as the tree
never tipping despite the wind and rain
to be as honest as the predator
only killing to live, sleeping secluded
it is in this way of being
that I find myself for the first time
looking to belong –
I sit in the pasture
surrounded by the sounds of bees
fixated on the outlined mountains in the distance
and it occurs to me
I am at church
and this moment is what religion looks like for me –

~



sagged jowls
     speckled with tinsel
             flop as raindrops
                 jump and fly  ~
after
     sad dark eyes
          seek my own
              momentarily joined
                   both of us sigh ~
his body is lumped with tumor
     his breathing ravaged by time
          I look down and well up
             soon I will lose my friend  ~
from a 10 week old fuzz ball
            unwilling to walk down stairs
    to a 13 year old lab-mastiff
             unwilling to go peacefully…
my heart breaks
my head swims
             at the thought
                    my old dog’s life
                          will soon end  /

silver sphere suspended
atmospheric phenomenon
through the dark branches of an old oak
it hovers ~

arm hairs stand
magnetized and energetic
they seemingly dance along the tanned skin
weaving and braiding themselves
while a low mysterious hum
surrounds me ~

frozen in place
not with terror
but instead with molecular glue
feet became ground
rooted to the grasses and trees around me
I was one with the landscape
before instantaneously I felt
myself floating
blinded and paralyzed ~

the cold metal table had the same hue
as the silver sphere I had seen
in the sky
resting behind the old oak
that sunny afternoon
unable to hold my thoughts I considered cheese
why we ingest cow milk rotted
I thought back to hot stringy grilled cheddar
as I watched grey tubes being pulled from my body
examined by three fingered hands
and placed back inside my body cavity /
the vision is startling
I remain numb and interestedly intoxicated
as a whiskey drunkard on payday
witnessing his own appendectomy ~

flashing strobes holiday style
leave me disorientated and nauseous
beneath my brick stained hands
green shoots of grass
poke up
I puke ~

staggering and trying to orientate myself
I realize it is early morning
and I am face down in the yard
above oak branches cross
and block a shiny silver anomaly
floating in the blue sky /

raincloud absenteeism
the scorched earth tendrils heat
mirages of Arabian oasis melt
two tiny quail chicks
seemingly spontaneously combust

skink tongue stretches to the horizon
flowing outward along the contour
rising and falling
fading only to reappear

figment transforms
as silver edges harden
speeding Plymouth breaks the spell

seeing a chrome ******
float off to the east
my plight becomes tangible
red arm stretches out
awaiting the next passing chance

saggy eye bags remind me of another sleepless night
what in my subconscious only allows four hours uninterrupted
flashing images
whirlwind of despair
crashing reality
the past still exists –
youthful transgressions
a wake of damaged feelings
and her
a daughter
innocent and abandoned
left behind like so much ****** baggage –
sweet sixteen with no father, just like all the others
can forgiveness exist in the ignored
very few miles and less through facebook
the failure is mine
I sit waiting
still –

recapturing a feeling
fleeting and forgotten
of love and peace
well-being and understanding
I have misplaced
my empathy –
once upon a time
I sought youtube videos
of children singing
and they brought tears of joy
to my aged and angry eyes
giving me pause
and a moment of quiet reflection
there was a time
in which I tracked down
high mountain lakes
to sit along side
and meditate on my connection
to everything around me
all of the time
…..seems a faded picture
on Kodak paper
from the late 70’s
figures blur and
distortion melds with
time ravaging oxidization –
there was a place
within my own mind
that gave me endless silver linings
constantly finding ways
to embrace optimism…..
though lately
I struggle to find that pathway
I miss old road signs
I pass overgrown landmarks
I forget what I am looking for…..
sitting within
staring out
seeking the old me –

dried mustard t-shirt
handcuffs like silver bands glow
anniversary

Testing the limits of love and trust
I can safely sit back in a place of faith
It is real and forever does exists
And thank the vast universe
For being brought up in a country
That believes in soul mates
And finding the perfect person for you
As opposed to arrangement
And bride price
But I digress
It is all about us and our life and our plans
The future and sunglasses
And hope
Looking at her soft blue eyes I can only reflect
On the perfection of a moment
At the grace in timelessness
Into the eyes of the one for me
…. And she does the same

metallic edger grinds the concrete
sending sparks askew
offering trenches for rain rivulets
and a break from the monotony
of the cold impersonal sidewalk
granting a distinctive separation
from the well-manicured lawn
just adjacent –
wide brimmed hat hides a sweaty face
darkened upper sleeves show
the land of lost perspiration
the official ‘wipe-zone’
for the landscape technician
paid by the contract
not many how many hours it takes –
she peeks out from behind lacy drapes
gazing at the most forbidden of fruits
longing to feel rough hands
with skill and delicacy
create new designs upon her landscape
show her the care and patience
she has watched him bestow
on so many flowerbeds
maybe one day…..her bed –
fleeting images of stolen kisses
and soft embraces
dance across her mind’s eye
when at once the rattle
of a rusted out and dented pick-up
travels slowly down the driveway
leaving her lost in lamentation
longing for next Tuesday –

elegance and grace
forever personified
in delicate and absentminded movements
the soft features
of her Greek goddess face
carved from marble and polished perfection
smooth and supple
sending me staggering
her voice travels on rarified air currents
cast by endangered butterflies
but only when they flutter for love and procreation
never just the hunting and gathering wind…
sipping nectar through my eyes
the only foodstuffs which have the ability to sustain
laying cradled by her love
I feel safe, cocooned,
and forever hers –

the sweetest lips and fairest skin
grace her face and I begin to swim
within the pool of blue, her eyes
for this love of mine there’s no disguise
I pause to think of her glance
am caught and trapped as in a trance
only freed when once her delicate song
brings me back to where I belong
feet rooted in soil so rich and dark
I sit thankful for the journey
                        for which I am to embark
‘tis this life we share that I write about
and the love we have for which there is no doubt
wishing only for this joy to be had by all
witnessing the tragic reality at the local mall
so many unhappy walking blindly through life
experiencing only hardship and strife
while us chosen few sit so high up above
because we trusted, had faith, and gained true love –

~
soup spoon discontent
                    blasé over cream of

where is the spice
      everything lacks flavor

just another boring old bowl
                 brimming with bland

if only a greened sprig
            where placed atop this fare

maybe I could stomach
                    the thought   /

slight depression in the pavement
allows mild precipitation to congregate
molecules, naturally excitable, join
lost in the reflective properties
I see the clouds flow to the east
altering form, elastic in the wind
brown leaves twirl and fly
oak ballerinas dance gracefully  
lighting ever-so gently
atop my perfect mirror
distortion and ripples change the mood…
I toss up my collar
and walk into the dingy yellow walled prison
Friday has finally come –

as a white American
few words hold power
the strength to stop traffic
the ability to curb enthusiasm
the worth to end conversation
‘****’ is such a word –
to write ‘****’ barely
invokes an emotional response
just four little letters on a page
written in such a way as to possess
meaning
through the organization of
consonants and vowels
creating a linguistic circus
which we can all enjoy…
**** –
merely slang for a feminine body part
or saved for those who infuriate us
nearly beyond measure
we throw it around, but not haphazardly
like those silly British:
tossing bleeding ***** for fun and frolic
while ******* a ***…
ah, the majesty of vernacular
**** –
she acted in such a way;
he made me so mad;
that dog **** on the floor;
come here honey, let me lick it
stick it
and slap it once for old time’s sake
**** …
more magic than Siegfried and Roy
especially when offered to a young boy
as a shiny new toy …
****
who knew it could bring forth both
such pain and such overwhelming joy
**** –

Sitting atop a high mountain trail
Considering the wind and sun
Looking down upon the Cascade foothills
The patchwork of clearcutting and trees
A forest wide checkboard of man’s desire
To forever control and capitalize on nature

I wonder of this is the way with man, his nature
To blaze the wilderness and cut his own trail
Curse over his shoulder at the true god, the sun
Think only of commerce when overlooking the foothills
While taking the minerals, the animals, and the trees
To placate his own insatiable desire

What is it that feeds this desire
To conquer and control nature
What makes a man think about cutting a trail
While working in the midday sun
Is it the need to explore the foothills
A need to own all of the trees

I look in my yard at the trees
I like them, but I feel no desire
No overwhelming need to rule nature
I walk back down the dog trail
They have cut in my yard while playing in the sun
Here at the base of the foothills

I am a part of these foothills
One with the trees
I am filled with a strong desire
To recognize my comradery with nature
Forging my own, new trail
And feeling on my face the warmth of the sun

I sat on the mountain in the summer sun
Overlooking the Cascade foothills
Near me a hawk sat in a snagged tree
Neither of us felt a longing of desire
Just the need to be there surrounded by nature
I gathered my things and headed down the trail

Is it really man’s nature to be locked in such an unhealthy desire?
Do we need to take every tree from the Cascade foothills?
In the sun, I thought these things, as I walked the trail…

why can’t I go back?
to simpler times
four stanza rhymes
limes and minds intertwined
its become unkind
joy declined
plagued by lack of bread
I said bread
loafs
hold the fishes
flakey cakes baked
flat pita meat and cheese
**** gluten free diabetes
self-imposed
undiagnosed
just following my nose
the bird says “it always knows”
back when cereal wasn’t genetically engineered
something to be feared
not for a child to be reared
mirrored in the exterior
fake tans dot the land
useless hands
clandestine  
hidden
gridiron lockdown
drowning
clowning
seeking peace from beastly yeast
creased forehead
brow disjointed
appointed anointed one undone
no guns
sunshine fabrication

the mood,
influenced by the slightest breeze
changes with each gracefully passing cloud
sunlight waxes and wanes
bringing complaints
from ray worshippers

Ray looks up from his newspaper, startled
“Leave me outta this,” he says.

returning to the electric sky
my mind replaces cumulus clouds
with floating sea foam
churning in the wake
children body surfing
right over the top of a resting
Sting-Ray

Again, Ray looks up more sternly
“Knock it off!” he yells.

casting my thoughts back to the blue
a new vision rises from the ether
of soft tones and melodic tunes
of a gravelly voice
and the most marvelous ballrooms

Ray jumps up and shouts,
“Do NOT make a Ray Charles stanza!”

sheepishly, I move on to a new subject

exacting pressure
parchment paper
rosin escapes
and pools
puddled tricombs
and medical molecules
lay like orange juice
fresh-squeezed
waiting restlessly
to be placed en masse
onto the awaiting enail
vaporization and inhalation
taste buds savor flavors
and the effects take hold
melting into the couch cushions
and considering the work day
I pull together another glob
and press it to the heated coil
breathing deep
my medicine of choice –