"cannabinoid" poems - Hello Poetry

swindling the air of its delight using Cannabis pipes, i have never written high i finally understand why, pen to paper all i can write "cigarette break", cannabinoid receptors putting my mind on brink, My feet get heavy as i start to float my stress anchors me down, like a twinkling eye of a magpie drawn to the red sparks of the spliff, Grilled, Baked, chasing the magic dragon.

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Aug 31, 2014

Aug 31, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC

William-Beech

Marry me Mary

swindling the air of its delight using Cannabis pipes, i have never written high i finally understand why, pen to paper all i can write "cigarette break", cannabinoid receptors putting my mind on brink, My feet get heavy as i start to float my stress anchors me down, like a twinkling eye of a magpie drawn to the red sparks of the spliff, Grilled, Baked, chasing the magic dragon.

15

My brain is a nuisance serpent, a Penelope polyp that recoils, recedes when it is most needed, hides behind itself, shoots into the cavities that have become cannabinoid landmines. I am not sure which parts are mine or whether there has been growth along with the debilitation, and would those ever balance as equalization? Can I discredit myself, credit myself—or I am I one big excuse? I excuse myself as I down one more glass, the neurons glaze, my myelins quieting the electricity; chemically, can I be held responsible for any change in chemistry? Can I qualify the distance between me and who I used to be?—and I’m tired of the Zen critics denying the difference; I try to focus presently, and, oh, I find myself in eternal flowered fields, transitory serenity—servant only to my misery; and so I beg to know: why can’t I stay there? They say we’re shared in suffering, but I’m not asking for consolation! I’m asking for hope—for possibility, that one day I—we—will be consciousness, and not some drifting broken barge atop her ever-swelling sea.

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Oct 12, 2014

Oct 12, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC

meekkeen

Untitled

My brain is a nuisance serpent, a Penelope polyp that recoils, recedes when it is most needed, hides behind itself, shoots into the cavities that have become cannabinoid landmines. I am not sure which parts are mine or whether there has been growth along with the debilitation, and would those ever balance as equalization? Can I discredit myself, credit myself—or I am I one big excuse? I excuse myself as I down one more glass, the neurons glaze, my myelins quieting the electricity; chemically, can I be held responsible for any change in chemistry? Can I qualify the distance between me and who I used to be?—and I’m tired of the Zen critics denying the difference; I try to focus presently, and, oh, I find myself in eternal flowered fields, transitory serenity—servant only to my misery; and so I beg to know: why can’t I stay there? They say we’re shared in suffering, but I’m not asking for consolation! I’m asking for hope—for possibility, that one day I—we—will be consciousness, and not some drifting broken barge atop her ever-swelling sea.

1

A novel situation, for a story to live for or in ever, forever and inever are aspects of ever never actually thought through. Ever being as ever was, now, all together This is where it gets crazy… cut to the chase, and nobody is chasing… Do you truly believe there is a lie so big that no one can ever unbelieve it alone? Do ya, hunh, do ya? Wanna bet? Could get hairy, could get… you know ***** humus- dirt us, we a we here. All the outs been let in free, we got shelter from our storm. Yeh. L'il Abner, cloud, no, "Big Chief Rain-in-the-face" wasn't that funny, back when they had the Shakespeare Riots, first but not last, time Feds fired on citizens pledged to allegiance, in states of professionally tested rebellion, to keep the meek assured their inheritance is safe, until the end, when nobody is sure what to expect. So, we lower your interest rate on entertainment. Attention spans as short as fifteen seconds, with seven seconds eye on target verified, by snapsnapsnap monoclapping app-lause trigger… those seven seconds are treasure, lemme tell y'gotta listen, we ain't got long, AI AI AI its all artistic intuition absolutely insane, in that good Steve Jobs insane way, insanely great, the feeling you get when you stand in the tenth floor comode and flush it, swoosh, swirl caresses flow between your rusting toes, in your mind, only in your mind, your industrial disneyfied mind, crossed with an imagined Turing machine, with a Von Neuman perpetuating glandular mod on the cannabinoid system, plus acid. Seedtime, harvest or seed time harvest round and round for a few loops, leaning into the plane of existence, to be with you, for your reading pleasure, we offer fully flexible futures, one day at a time, no Westworld AI wu wu - we way cooler than allathat Vitamin D, 2-d, thathathat is you to me, you are my sunshine, lemme see y'shine.

0

Jul 23, 2020

Jul 23, 2020 at 7:00 PM UTC

kenpepiton

In to a storied existence... beta .03

A novel situation, for a story to live for or in ever, forever and inever are aspects of ever never actually thought through. Ever being as ever was, now, all together This is where it gets crazy… cut to the chase, and nobody is chasing… Do you truly believe there is a lie so big that no one can ever unbelieve it alone? Do ya, hunh, do ya? Wanna bet? Could get hairy, could get… you know ***** humus- dirt us, we a we here. All the outs been let in free, we got shelter from our storm. Yeh. L'il Abner, cloud, no, "Big Chief Rain-in-the-face" wasn't that funny, back when they had the Shakespeare Riots, first but not last, time Feds fired on citizens pledged to allegiance, in states of professionally tested rebellion, to keep the meek assured their inheritance is safe, until the end, when nobody is sure what to expect. So, we lower your interest rate on entertainment. Attention spans as short as fifteen seconds, with seven seconds eye on target verified, by snapsnapsnap monoclapping app-lause trigger… those seven seconds are treasure, lemme tell y'gotta listen, we ain't got long, AI AI AI its all artistic intuition absolutely insane, in that good Steve Jobs insane way, insanely great, the feeling you get when you stand in the tenth floor comode and flush it, swoosh, swirl caresses flow between your rusting toes, in your mind, only in your mind, your industrial disneyfied mind, crossed with an imagined Turing machine, with a Von Neuman perpetuating glandular mod on the cannabinoid system, plus acid. Seedtime, harvest or seed time harvest round and round for a few loops, leaning into the plane of existence, to be with you, for your reading pleasure, we offer fully flexible futures, one day at a time, no Westworld AI wu wu - we way cooler than allathat Vitamin D, 2-d, thathathat is you to me, you are my sunshine, lemme see y'shine.

60

The un-organized, nicht dis ***** ized me, with more brain cells in my soft belly than in my amyg-dali-esque ambit-hibation station broad casting on all waves twisting in ever from here. Here i have ever been since ever was a thought, and this is what you got. Give it a try, not my will, but thine been done, and this is what that answered prayer became, today, after the sufficiency of evil were swept away with the same besom which swept witches to pyres, back in the day, they say... we were born after those lies had been thourough, rought, right thought wrong. Fixin´ an'fittin'for most folk, same same in forming a way around the dam thing, holding certain truth from truce sake. If Paul Rivere had writ this in silver, you would never know, but i wrote it in light, on your window to your soul, and you read it, or not. Ig ig ig nor nominy anomoly night right is a reason, for other wise pro vocative vagus nervous knowing, oh, my god, is this true this system, is mapped on a baseball, stitches and horse hide and all? Yen, curiosity-ifty boo, do you know we are wasted if we missed our call to be other wise and ended as this wise and not that. Up or down, depends who looks. If a cannabinoid system did not exist, I would suggest we invent it.

0

Apr 17, 2020

Apr 17, 2020 at 11:13 PM UTC

kenpepiton

I may suggest, if you will, if you please

The un-organized, nicht dis ***** ized me, with more brain cells in my soft belly than in my amyg-dali-esque ambit-hibation station broad casting on all waves twisting in ever from here. Here i have ever been since ever was a thought, and this is what you got. Give it a try, not my will, but thine been done, and this is what that answered prayer became, today, after the sufficiency of evil were swept away with the same besom which swept witches to pyres, back in the day, they say... we were born after those lies had been thourough, rought, right thought wrong. Fixin´ an'fittin'for most folk, same same in forming a way around the dam thing, holding certain truth from truce sake. If Paul Rivere had writ this in silver, you would never know, but i wrote it in light, on your window to your soul, and you read it, or not. Ig ig ig nor nominy anomoly night right is a reason, for other wise pro vocative vagus nervous knowing, oh, my god, is this true this system, is mapped on a baseball, stitches and horse hide and all? Yen, curiosity-ifty boo, do you know we are wasted if we missed our call to be other wise and ended as this wise and not that. Up or down, depends who looks. If a cannabinoid system did not exist, I would suggest we invent it.

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