I lived through it,
The up and down times
When I sold ***
And did other petty crimes.
I was there when
Hot girls were really guys
Hiding floppy secrets
Between their nyloned thighs.

I loved through it,
Saturdays that started
On Tuesday morning
When I first departed;
Two packs of cigs
And a week’s doobies,
By then a value
Almost that of rubies.

I laughed through it,
A **** *****, your jokes
Were so funny if
You were providing smokes.
I flattered and flirted
Whatever it would finally take
To score a bit of ****,
Even the skimpiest shake.

I lolled through it,
Lying buck naked in your bed
Or with your guests
Whatever you originally said
Because you scored,
You were the source of dope.
Without your patronage
I didn’t have a moment of hope.

I hitchhiked through it,
Long trips back from Malibu
When I had worn out
My welcome to the world of you.
I hope the ride might be
Another adventure; more ****,
Or some food and drink
To satisfy my every begging need.

Breathe in, breathe out
Weird stench fills the air
I took 8 hits on the pipe
Feeling relaxed, feeling lost

My eyes turn red, very red
My mouth is dry; I feel famished
Wasted another day, all alone
All forgetful, all pain-free

Blue Dream, Purple Voodoo, Afghan, Green Crack
I haven't tried it all, only have one type
Feeling so lost, but relaxed
No sorrow I feel, no yelling I hear

Known as "illegal drug", right in my room
I should stop, this isn't good
It ruins my brain, my lungs, my life
Feeling very lost, feeling that anxiety

I get caught smoking outside
My life is done, over for good
They tell me to turn myself in
But guess what I have, guess what I have

Some pistols and a gun
I load 3, just to make sure
I should've stopped smoking earlier; but it's  all done now
I pull the trigger, I pull the trigger

Not missing the head

The waves of intoxicated clouds,
Rifled with the gun powder,
At the labels of green dark stripes,
Where we sat like bloomed flowers.

The light from the far beyond,
Has stood on the sublime figure,
Where the lost place dipped in silence,
Has been warmed by my sweater.

Thy the alchemy of nature leaves,
With a rift of that muse hemp,
Has stood this night's track,
And the eyes smiled as an oil lamp.

The night's tale has rowed to my old memory,
The storm has had a swift end,
Through hard life, and surrenders,
I still miss those guilty cents.

A small single apartment
That is all I really need.
The result of low ambition
And a paucity of greed.
A kitchen for cooking
A comfy place to sleep
Just great for meditation for
Thoughts that don’t go deep.

It was close to my buddies
That good old gang of mine
I go there, they come here,
As long as there was wine.
I was serving jug wine
And vintage it was not.
I had to switch to *** when
My stomach started to rot.

I also served cheap beer,
The cheapest I could find.
Between the wine and beer
It’s lucky today I’m not blind.
And food was also frugal
Mostly chips and salsa hot.
Stoners aren’t that choosy.
Gourmands we were not.

Of course we all had our own
Personal marijuana stash.
Its quality depended on
The amount of available cash.
But one of us was a dealer
Or sometimes there were two.
They always brought a supply
To sell, that’s what they do.

We laughed and roared and
Someone always had a guitar
It is nineteen seventy two
And that’s how conditions are.
Some of us had jobs back then
But most were floating around.
It’s hard to be a stable soul
With no feet on the ground.

bad influence, yes, I know
in a dark, eerie, isolated parking lot is not where I am supposed to be at
staring at a cars ceiling, hallucinating is not how I imagined spending my night
bad influence, yes, I know
but my adrenaline is pumping and I can't help but yearn for one last taste
the heat is rising and I can't help but at your body in awe, stare
bad influence, yes, I ******* know
but I can't hold back this desire for more
because for once in this redundant & bland lifetime I feel like I'm living and not *just breathing

[sweet pungent synthesis]
always with dank hysterical women demonstrating the distilled liquid elixir of their many years in isolation.
they are the nitrogen-rich followers of an ultraviolet shrine, such is
a photosynthetic life-form, reacting/enacting/enhancing.
they reach for holes in the moon &
on four-legged fumes carbonize seeds into sons and daughters. birth/
life.
all flowers ache forth to display color and/or
their varietals of hairy oil content.
to dip psychotropics, thus the worship of brain frequency and light.
fresh progress,
the sugar crystal compounds impacting, intact, and swollen.
trichomes, like huddled little masses of grandbabies bowed upon the ridge.
she drips
in dance and derives her form from properties plucked by time,
by moms, and pops.
to discover is to find purity in a moment.
pure travel/ pure
death.
this growing force,
this apparition of sound within me. organics.
organisms bound by great beauty and failure.
sense not the vivid panic, or the shock of last black, but hold true
to an inner joyous/outer motionous, tessellation that is, this
fluttering of us.
us suit of hearts.
suit of leaves.
the fusion of two bodies far beyond substantial pressure.

I'm sorry, but
There's no better combination than
Pink Floyd and the Cannabee

Not even you and me.


-- Eleanor

I got up late and left the house at eight.
To some that might be early but it’s not.
The cloudless day surely would be great
I wanted to see a friend who I found hot.
Right before the bus stop I heard someone
Calling out my name, a voice I knew.
Asking if I wanted to have some great fun;
He could be counted on to follow through.

We went around the corner to a buddy
One I was sure I had never met before.
His front yard was wet and very muddy
With marijuana plants there by the score.
We went inside and after a few doobies
I asked him if the cops left him alone;
After all those plants are not jujubies.
He didn’t answer me, but dialed the phone.

A little while later I heard someone knocking
Our host went over, let the new guest in.
I guess my face betrayed something shocking,
Because I heard the laughter of my friends.
Standing in the door was a policeman
Full regalia, face as stern as a warrior.
I got up, almost straight enough to stand
When our host said don’t call your lawyer.

Relax, he said, the cop is my kid brother
And he does not believe in this law;
He thinks the rules against *** and hemp
Are dumber than a script from Hee Haw.
We sat there with him and passed the joint.
He told us not to worry about his sergeant.
He smokes too, so that’s a good point.
*** heads with a policeman friend is pleasant.

I never made it over to my friend’s place,
The one I started out today to see.
He didn’t expect me, so it is no disgrace.
How the day turned out was okay with me.
One of the nice things about cannabis use
Is the happy acceptance of one’s fate.
Not caring where you’re going is a good excuse
To stay longer and not care if you are late.

I remember the first time I *******,
I thought I was having a seizure-
or that I had somehow malfunctioned the Matrix
and had broken through
a fold of reality;
some white-noise ladder to greater plains,
throbbing, animal convulsions,
and a peak that only death
could overpower.

I remember crashing into shame
upon my return, versus the smug welcome
of oxytocin and my adult life;
not knowing to what extent
my ***** would dominate my mind;

you know, I cannot write a poem
without noticing my loneliness,
all the ******* I have left behind.
For that moment, in my New Found ******,
I was paralysed at the thought of a sober life,
and ever since that moment,
ever since that night,
I have been searching for those higher plains
in the lowest branches of myself.

Now I smoke my fill and redden my eyes
to bleed out old anxieties,
dry up old tears whilst softening scars
that I have collected over years
spent indoors, hiding from danger.
I remember the first time I *******,
how it came to me by accident,
a repeated motion of unknown emotions;
the undulations in her breath;
even now I still sit by myself,
and make love out of whatever is left.