"baggie" poems
daily provisioning
wallet watch testicles spectacles
cash (single bills) cell phone
bottle of water hairbrush with vanity attached,
personal technology baggie
(earbuds, variety of charging cords etc.)
loose change in order to fall from pockets & annoy yourself
sunglasses (idiot! summers half over) and something else...
pocket tissues!
skin and bone, muscle, all flavors and multilayers,
a language of music only you hear,
the pumping station internal, the gaga motion
product of the palette of body following souled emotions,
the antacid pills after that burrito;
and that strangely named thang called
libido?
your teeth your smile, your shyest guile,
to catch that lady’s hopefully.
reciprocated pearly whites delight,
pen and pad to record being a sad and mad good lad,
a Swiss Army knife if the tube or bus
should (will) breakdown,
your tiny little bottles of
inspiration perspiration and perspective,
that you forgot to
label
the list to do and the list
to add to the to do list
and good heavens,
a serious writing utensil
to fool yourself when
thinking serious thoughts like
these
the last but should be first,
the house keys!!
keys just an enabler
to do it all again
tomorrow
July 11, 2018 10:22pm
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC
Who else felt the night coming off the tracks,
When we first stepped into that crowded, 1 bedroom apartment,
For the 21st birthday of a guy we knew (his friends, we didn't)?
Strangers derailed and built up drunken tension.
That settled once he found the smoke,
You found the beer,
And I brought the ***
I know my regrets.
But do you still enjoy the white line you crossed...
Off the counter top,
Before we left for IHop?
You hit me, held my hand, and made me promise in the stall,
(where I held your hair just last week)
That I won't tell.
I won't.
We loaded up in the car to go back,
But got stopped along the way.
Two pipes, one baggie, and an open container later...
Maybe birthday boy became a man,
Sometime between when he got cuffed...
And when he apologized.
Was it just me or....
Were the State Troopers cutest when they lined us girls up,
Looked at us,
And let us go?
Just in time for Mother's Day.
May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 2:31 AM UTC
It twas a chunk.
A bootleg papertowel, ziplock baggie, hairband combo
Allowed me to continue
Cutting and subsequently cooking
Perseverance? Check.
Being a bad ***** Check.
Maintaining a sense of humor while I'm gushing blood? Check.
Jamming 90s alternative rock with my nineteen year old brother? Check.
No ******* this time though..
He wouldn't allow such.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
Nine months of darkness,
Snow on the ground,
No leaves on the trees,
No warmth around.
As the winter comes to a close,
Lakes and rivers still seem froze,
Soon the waters will break free,
Moving life far as eyes can see,
And now its time to have some fun,
Playing under the Alaskan sun.
Rivers are running , bears now conscious,
Birds a flutter, fish obnoxious,
Breathing in the summer air,
Floating down the river bare,
Baggie of green, cooler filled supreme,
Almost as if, it were all a dream.
When I look back, old and grey,
I'll remember the nights and days,
When we found euphoria under the Alaskan sun.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
I'm taking my life. to the pawnshop on a dusty summer-fall morning
Because at this point I'm not sure what to use it for anymore
And they'll give me cash for trash
Like a mountain of crushed cans in exchange for a dream money can buy in a clear plastic baggie
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
There's half a sandwich in my baggie,
I run with it around the playground and
I'm getting weird looks because..
I'm 23
and somehow I find it much more amusing than nerve wracking
because when I wrack my brain to find answers
all I can think about is running around
my old elementary school play ground.
Maybe just maybe that's why I laugh like santa who had just finished
his rounds for he year and
maybe I laugh like a man that just won a billion dollars,
because I know when I go back to work the next day
I know I cannot laugh this loud
so loud I shed tears of joy, no
when I go back I will shed tears of boredom if there is such a thing.
Sitting at a desk is killing me, but I guess in the end
I've been dying all along.
"Sit quietly at your desk until the bell rings"
"Ask before you use the restroom"
"Finish every thing on your recycled tray"
Well let me tell you there are none such rules on the play ground
I can run and scream, and
I can finish the other half of this sandwich
when I **** well want to.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
Those little white lines seem to erase every little problem, don't they? But be careful, dear, you can only run for so long before everything comes catching back up to you. It'll hit you square in the face, leave you with a black eye for a week. Don't let it get that far. Put down the little baggie, put away the credit card, you're better than that.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
I met Sally on the hill with a nickel bag of ******
She didn't pay me in money.
Instead, information and a little persuasion made the baggie leave my right back pack pocket
***“Dollars could never have made sense of it anyway
We throw pennies away opting for the opulence that big bills entail
Retail will never amount to the amount I've blown on blow”***
Or so she said behind Louis Vuitton shades shielding eyes half dead
A ****** with a monkey on her back fed by a steady stream of opiates
***“I open this line of communication so you can see we lack foundation and stability and yet
We're trying to build a sand castle with all the powder we can possibly get
And if we're forced to forfeit that fortress, we snort more, still trying to forget”*** and with that she placed her sunglasses on top of her head
I stood back with my back pack and I finally understood
Why drugs will make you richer than working ever could
They bag a gram put it on the scale and tell you what it weighs
But they don't tell you how unnoticeable it is when your life slips away
We sell the dream, we sell the aesthetics
The drugs, the parties, the scene with guest lists
Invincibility
Pretty lights.
Fun. All a lie.
I almost fell on my face walking down the hill, staring into those blue eyes over my shoulder all the while.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC
you can jump from
swing to swing
when you know the
safety net is there
all bottled up
in highways and
happy hours
long drives through
painted lines
and exit signs
long nights spent
swinging out
as far as you can
above that safety net
picking poison
from a stainless
steel spoon
and long mornings
spent picking up the
shards of a life
that longed to be
left behind
on the road
mile markers like handholds
climbing you farther and
farther up the mountain
closed eyes keep you far from home
rolled back in escape
those painted lines
those six lanes
seventy five miles
an hour toward everything
another spoonful
another baggie
another mile
keep me from thinking
keep me from feeling
keep me from the truth
all these safety nets
saving me from myself
another night
another fight
working futiliy to
keep that hand
tighter and tighter
around my throat
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 2:28 AM UTC
Lars lifts opens the toilet seat. The hinge squawks and he mimics the sound with his mouth. A dumb smile folds out on his face like someone unrolling a beach towel. He sits without dropping his pants or underwear. The cops are just about to leave through the screen door. Maggie offers a departing sacrament of right out of the oven of crispy flakey Pillsbury biscuits. They wave their hands parallel to the ground refusing. Maggie pulled the biscuits out too early. The bottoms are tan and dimensional but the tops are sloppy. They look like they have a glaze but they don’t have a glaze. They are pasty but still hot to the touch. The pan is hot. Maggie is wearing maroon oven mitts. One of the cops gets his foot snagged on the throw rug. They walk with their heads down but don’t notice the curled edges of the throw rug. They notice a black pug named Roger instead and nearly avoid fumbling over him. The cops scatter outside quickly like ducklings crossing the street. Lars’ dumb smile lingers and he laughs with a shushing lisp. He reaches between his legs into the toilet bowl. His hand disturbs the water. His nose is bleeding. Maggie closes the doorwall after the cops leave. The cops left the screen open. Maggie reopens the doorwall, closes the screen, shakes her head, and then closes the doorwall again. The kitchen is humming with improper wires. The light is electric pastel blue. The linoleum is too ***** to sleep on. Maggie’s ******* can be seen through her shirt. Lars wipes his nose with his arm and shoulder. He is hunched digging into the toilet bowl. He pulls out a baggie with a twist tie on top. The baggie looks reused. Maggie enters under the frame of the door and her lips roll out like a beach towel. The ******* in the baggie is very very dry.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
After a neat little bite
She slid his sandwich into its baggie
And smiled,
Never tiring of her little joke.
“See, it’s alright. Im here with you, having a little fun!”
After the bell he peered into the bag.
And there it was
And a note:
“I love you, Aaron. “
This morning’s mixture of boredom and fear punctuated by her love
Then he daydreamed of helping with the clothespins,
Sheets snapping in the wind
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 12:51 PM UTC
Your drugs come in a plastic baggie inhaled through your nose,
I inhale the scent of your skin looking at you i froze,
My parents warned me about you, a bad boy with good lips,
Overdosing on your mystery your mind concealed like a solar eclipse,
Puffing on a beneficial herb that makes you sleep at night,
Who'd of known i could become high from you; a tragically damaged delight.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
And so as a man, a job,
a cactus wearing a business suit sharing relations with the hydrant down the street.
A ***** strapped to a baby carriage with plastic baggie cellphones
yelling "run away now"
to the grass at his feet.
A man devoid of water, rather.
These are the times
A well, emptied.
Rather death
find waves of spilled milk and
all the fat people, skinny.
A dry mouth desert, kneeling
In either breath of a living feeling
or the one that talks of so much
for only the wealth of his screaming.
Some tiny furniture talked all night about running through wheat,
ebbing and flowing against the end tables,
then falling short as crumbling tree leaves.
An ottoman as recycle bin holding stem
from stem of watermelon children
and vine-ripened acetaminophen.
Some odd truth told the blowing wind that
God does cartwheels with Lucifer at random.
It then billowed out about
his ***** underwear and holy fodder for memorandum.
I would say a man, a vision,
A little girl using a GPS to calculate the distance from the rest her teething.
Instead, she found a funny barbeque ***** playing hog-tied pharmaceutical reps into neoprene
mud-flapping pigeons.
I would say the sinking plastic six-pack islands revealing trash limbs,
sunken,
honest,
grim.
Life, itself, must move in tandem to only fleeting geese.
Though in plan, the artisan-picking fruit of word must be depicted.
Live in sin and ignorance much like the
breaking news walking on broken record.
And so as a man; a fear.
He looked down, staring at no one
with bare feet and shaken, coconut flavored palm trees.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
screaming and crying, not on the outside but soon
I found it dad
I found your baggie of ****
the SF muni rolls past Mariposa St
I did not want to believe it
when I saw the make shift bongs
not **** bongs
how many of the ******* things do you need
I know it’s big in the gay scene to smoke **** before ***
but I thought you could find other ways to enjoy yourself
did your new boyfriend wean you on to it
I’ll ******* **** him
lock me up, I have always wondered if I would like solitary
you brought the make shift glass pieces to thanksgiving
you don’t even live with us anymore
but you brought it anyway
the SF muni scoots past Wawona St
guess you needed your fix
guess your kids, the genetic bits of yourself, were not entertaining enough
I could always think
naw, I bet he is smoking hash out of those
but then I found the baggie today
in a long rectangular bag I found the shards
I cried in horror
there was room for more than 10 grams of **** in there
so now I’m on the bus headed home
I run from the bus stop all the way home
all out sprint, hoping to run myself docile
It does not work
I get to the house and find a hammer
I decide to unload my anger on an old wooden door laying on the side of the house
I get a few good swings in before the hammer head breaks off, flying across the back yard
I’m not calm yet
I get to our garage door
and I snap
I see red, I scream my throat raw and I kick our garage door
I do not expect it to cave’
but it does
I feel the weight giving out against the sole of my boot
for the first time today, I am winning at something
I kick
I see my father
I kick some more
I see my father’s addiction personified beneath my boot
It’s face miming the expression, ‘Sorry, not sorry’
I give it one final kick and inspect my handiwork
I’ll have to come back out with a different hammer to fix the door before my mom comes back home from work
****
I thought I was a calmer person than this
I go upstairs and pass out
I want you to see my grandkids, dad
you won’t be able to while on that ****
I walk by or open my garage every day
every day I think about how such a beautiful man could come to a place where **** is the answer
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
What i've learned in high school
is that happiness doesnt come in a 2 gram baggie.
That the first time you have *** wont be with the one who loves you.
You wont make honor roll,
and the nights you stay home with purple bags leaking underneath your eyes,
wont be the night you get any sleep.
The day you go into the library to find remnence of someone else written in ink plastered onto the page,
wont be the day you leave your mark on the school.
You wont be cherished... or remembered.
When you go to your first party people will be laced in green and brown with bloodshot eyes.
Not caring what your view on them is.
And when you're drawing in class because you're bored,
You might as well recieve your F now rather than later,
because you dazed off the whole semester.
And when you turn 18 and become independent,
You realized high school never prepared you for this,
Because just a few months ago you had to raise your hand just to go to the restroom.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 8:50 AM UTC
escorting you through the back alleys of Asia,
well it's kinda like
strutting into an interview drunk.
It's kinda like walking through airport security
with a baggie full of illicits in pocket 4
or is it pocket 5?
Hearing you speak Korean
with a shaking head
and a firm hand on my inner thigh,
well it's kinda like
asking a stranger to pay for my drinks.
Treating you to dinner and pitchers
when your heart's fighting your brain,
well it's kinda like
reassuring a child on his birthday
that he's getting presents later in the week.
And so receiving your words in the morning,
well it's kinda like
getting a kiss on a swollen cheek
right beneath a fresh black eye.
It's all kinda like it's dangerous
but I think I'm doin' an OK job
at acting like I know what I'm doin'.
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 11:05 AM UTC
Although
I don’t remember specifics
I believe I had some leftover shake
I don’t remember any clear plastic baggie
nor how much was in it
(two fingers worth?)
But at the time
I had been doing a good deal of baking
Savory tortes
Fluffy quiches
Cookies always
And so I made a batch of brownies
Dark and Chewy?
That I’d like to think but I don’t remember
What I do know is that I tried them
and decided that
I wouldn’t share
Not really
They were that good
A dreamy sweet high
Really nice
Lovely in fact
But eventually
I softened and wrapped up maybe
Two
And took them to Venice
I don’t remember who got the first one
but I gave the second
to an inveterate ‘head’
****** since birth
most likely
I thought out of everyone
she would appreciate it the most
A connoisseuse
And I waited for her critique
I might add that although is seemed irrelevant
To me
she was what they refer to as
Rock-and-Roll Royalty
‘so-called’
and her then Fuckbuddy Roommate was
an Actor (aspiring)
The critique came sure enough
But not what I had expected
as
She didn’t eat it
But gave it in turn to him, the Fuckbuddy
Passing it along
To curry favor
To advance in the entanglement
To keep him interested and provided for
-i got you baby-
And not to make
too strong a point
but I didn’t much like the guy
It would have been a sad enough fate
for the Little *** Brownie
If it had ended there
but the Fuckbuddy
brought it along to a meeting
To a casual tête-a-tête with
A Major Hollywood Film Director
Huge, at the time
An auteur
Of course
You know his Work
He’ll be considered iconic
at some point
If not already
And the Little *** Brownie was passed along again
To curry favor
To create a connection
To cast the glow of good fellowship and commiseration
The wink
The nod
But this time it was eaten
And afterwards the
Major Hollywood Film Director
I was told
made a personal phone call
To let the Fuckbuddy know
About upcoming projects
Most likely those that
would never include him
And to state:
‘by the way, that brownie you gave me...
It Wasn’t Any Good.’
In turn
The Fuckbuddy (who scored a major TV role without a brownie and subsequently dumped her)
let Royalty know too
And she,
in turn
Rolled it back to me
So the moral of the story is:
Be Mindful With Whom You Share Your Gifts
Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 1:05 PM UTC
We went out to dinner and you ordered my favorite
when it came, we switched plates
because you knew I’d change my mind.
We walked into your friends house looking for some beer
instead they pulled out a sweet little baggie
filled with don’t-say-it-out-loud-named drugs.
Everyone gets big stupid smiles watching Rodger
cut it in lines on the table.
I’m trying to tell you with my eyes that my heart is beating faster
than it’s supposed to
that I am in no way comfortable here
please please take me home *********
and you told my eyes out loud,
“Yeah but I’m gonna do it anyway.”
(Full blown panic attack. It’s what you do to me
baby.)
Leaning over the table like you’re about to get ******
(that was mean, but I am mad),
inhale deeply through that roll of paper.
I’m watching you sourly from the couch
whispered into your ear
“when you come down, you’re taking me the **** home”
(this entire poem goes in The Swear Jar)
instead we had makeup *** upstairs and
I flirted with all your friends.
I guess it got later. The party started going,
some Taylor kid’s speaking in my ear
“That boyfriend of yours, does he love you?”
“Not at all” (I’m a flirt but at least I am honest)
Told me to call him when I shake off the loser.
How can I shake off this loser?
How could I give away the boy (man?) who orders
my broccoli cheddar soup
so we can switch bowls
after my disillusioned moment
of chicken noodle wanting.
He carried me to bed again, and held me when I woke up
crying.
We listen to Neil Young in the car on our way out to the woods
he said
“What a sad man…his Mimi went away.”
running his hands through my hair.
This is my excuse:
you don’t know a person, until
you have gone through their medicine cabinet.
They say.
Mine have prescriptions
You’ve had to find yours yourself
to find yourself. But now I think
it’s time to grow up, or die real young.
It’s not my problem.
I think I maybe should stop it with this
problem.
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC
when it is
my final time,
i make it here
clear.
for my first choice
my wish,
is to go like
all the critters we see,
lying in the woods,
enjoying a last
long, lingering
Final look.
this body
once warm
slipping into
Mother earth
in its very own
time.
second way
i'd like,
is to go like
the
ancient Zoroastrianism
practitioners
did do.
or the monks
high among the
peaks of the
snow covered
Himalyan peaks
of Tibet
once so
Free.
i'll take a hot
firey burning
if that is what you
must do.
mixed in thoroughly,
with those of
my puppyhead
and her magficient
ancestors.
fling theses ashes
high overhead,
while the winds
are blowing
strongly along.
hike to the top
a high and lonely
peak,
open the little
baggie of plasticky.
release these ashes,
of us who loved
each other So,
to ride the winds
forever together,
throughout all of
eternal time!
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
Numb nostrils,
jittery tongues,
swarming the cutting board.
Sharks, whose blood lust
shot off the charts
with the sight of one little baggie,
gnash their teeth
"Pour it out! Line it up!"
"Here's yours!"
"I can't feel my teeth!"
all caught on the reef
thrashing for another dose.
Who am I to judge with this
white gold
in my nose.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC
Do you want to go dance in the moonlight?
Where?
Dry Lagoon around the rocky bend
Just past the tide pools
Anenomies and Star Fish
Where the beach is
Where the agates, glassy yellow shine
in the horizon sun
Sounds good
When are you coming?
Around six thirty-five
There's a harvest moon rising
I have Del Shannon and the Drifters on the Spotify
My mom is in a mood
I don't know if she'll let me go
She's being way to profound
yelling at the t.v.
It's okay
Tell her you're gonna find some bliss
She won't know what to do with this
You're my sweetie
Come and get me
I've got a baggie for the agates
A "bonnet" for the sun
I don't know the Drifters
But come on around
and
Give me some
K.
Remember, save the last dance for me.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
Baggie pants white T-shirt hair faded on the side they say I’m gay cause I dress like a boy I say it’s just clothes theirs no gender on the tag I wear what I want I like who I am I like my hair my style but I’m not boy they don’t like it they say act like a girl but this is just who I am
Jun 19, 2021
Jun 19, 2021 at 11:30 PM UTC
Baggie, tin foil, pizza box that entered much too soon before I had the chance to read the baking instructions.
Tissues, red bull cans, graded busy work that earned it's keep after a professor marked it with a big red "X."
Mummified tea bags drained of every last living drop, miniature candy bar wrappers, a dumb drawing of a cow dressed as Spider-man.
Guitar strings, chewed gum, a news article about the house I burned down.
Love notes, crumpled paper cups, and a used band-aid.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 11:18 PM UTC
Happiness does not come packaged in prescription bottles
Or plastic baggie, top carefully sealed
It cannot be found at the bottom of empty shot glasses
Or finished beer cans, that is not where it's revealed.
Joy will not be found rolled up in a joint
Not discovered in a small cardboard box
Or scattered among powder lined on a mirror
I have scoured many vials stocked with shiny rocks.
Smoking herb might cause you to laugh and smile
Hallucinogens can open your mind
Fun feelings fade you'll feel worse than before
Without aid of drugs contentment will be hard to find.
Soon you will spend time chasing chemicals
In form of a **** tab, straw, or syringe
Whether you puff, eat, snort or shoot
It comes down to the same unhealthy binge.
Do not waste your life wrapped in burnt-up foils
Foraging through crumbs for a shroud of hope
We all have different ways of escaping
Some fall too deep and never climb back up the steep slope.
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
I dream of you every day.
I wish I was with you all the time.
I sleep, hoping you'll come to wake me.
So that I'll never wake up.
I want to hold your hands
And kiss your cold, numb lips.
I want to fall with you
Into the nothingness.
Oh, Death.
I wish you would come
Take me away from this place.
I have a baggie of sleeping pills.
I slept for 12 hours straight on them.
But when I wake,
I awaken to my life.
And sigh because I don't
Want to live it.
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 4:25 AM UTC