Truancy is a ***** with ***** stamps and skunky hair
her constant need to blow smoke up the ***** of those trying to try
is inconvenient at best, irresponsible at worst,
maybe amusing in the eyes of the elders.
Been there, done that
she rolls her eyes and pouts
slits her wrists with carnival glass
so she bleeds the multi-dimensional colors imperceivable to  human eyes,
an entirely different color spectrum,
ultraviolet, super violent,
tasty and warm.
This young lady is no lady at all
just a little girl,
vulnerable and scared
and a total ****** *****,
grabbing her ankles and thumping in dumpsters,
pretty little thing,
with scabs and gin
and cute little *** stains.
Leave her be,
this street walking angel
she never learned her lesson,
too swag for education.

I've weighed the pranks:
Pulling out a chair;
Flooded fairways;
Skunky beer;
Onion candy apples;
Mayo in cream-filled donuts;
Lubricating jelly in handwash;
Polyurethaning soap;
Baking soda in ketchup bottles;
Flushing while the shower's in use;
Sending a welcome card on behalf of your friend to Kingdom Hall;
Eliot was right,
Snow in April is the cruelest.

i lost 'me'
somewhere along
rusty tracks
i'd found myself one day
nine years old
counting chirps birds made
suspended in the air
swinging
                           up
and
  
  down

now i'm down again
now i'm not sure what age means
the word "nineteen"
tossed out and
looked down upon
always too young
too naive

now i'm smoothing out edges
with the rough skunky smoke
i'd learned to let go
and a
calloused heart

one ex lover
silent
in our room
while i sit here on the couch
alone
******
hungover

another man
down the street
with my heart
and his lover's head on his chest
if i'm the mistress
i guess that makes him
the cheating *******
but i can't help
but sympathize

at least i've got a full pack of smokes
and my cat
to keep me company

They shined so bright. Brighter than a diamond, brighter than the sun. I saw so much light in the two almonds I stared into. The perfect shade of brown, to match the melanin protecting him.

Perfect together, the pair.

They fluttered so fast like they didn’t want to miss a thing, like they wanted to fly away. Couldn’t get them to hold your affections forever, they quickly broke my gaze.

I think it made them nervous to look at me so honestly. I could smell the herb, skunky like OG. I could see the cares lift away with a puff, puff, and a pass. The familiarity was instant. Looking as smooth as your words I got lost in them. Tripped and stumbled down to familiarity again. Lana in Lannyland falling for that gaze like a sin.

I feel at ease when I breathe in
The scent entitled
'home'
It's ingredients are the memories
I've had to endure
And some I have enjoyed
My room used to smell like my tears
And my sobs
It now smells of temple incense
And sweat
from touching myself at night
Now my car has a smell
It's new and I'm learning
How to label it
But everyone says it's good
My clothes have a scent and some
Are so old
The smell lingers for years and
As I pull over a sweatshirt
I remember a familiar face
I'm wrapped up in your scent
As if you're breathing on my neck
Instead of a caress
It is suffocating
The threads hold memories of how
Your hair smelled
How the shampoo you used
Irritated my skin
And how the **** you smoked
Was skunky and strong
Now you smell of cigarettes and
Spit
I wish to never taste
That scent again
My blankets enfold me in
Summer nights
And my pillow case is wet
My carpet is stained orange-
But I could talk about the stains
I've come to memorize
For years
A smell goes away
And I forget who it comes from
If it was mine
Or yours

The skunky is funky
              No one I think is in my tree
                                          Loss of direction
Which way is North

I'm sorry my clothes
smell like cigarettes
even though they're
newly washed;
I don't smoke, I promise--
I don't do my own laundry
when I'm at home

And I hate that
I am now familiar
with the disgusting,
skunky odor of ****
even though I've never
seen a blunt with my own eyes

But yet I still know
how it feels to be addicted--
not to a drug, to a person--
the effects are just the same.

It's like I need you to be
whole; a part of me is
missing when you're
not near--and God,
it hurts sometimes!

The anxious jitters
overcome me, eyes
cold and unnerving,
thoughts more
and more
convoluted
by the minute.

No, I've never smoked,
but that doesn't mean
I'm unaffected.

Secondhand smoke
has the power
to ****, too, you know...

It's dead cold at night
the bottle gleams, electric
a cold drink is best.

It's quite dark in here
just a cherry, skunky sweet
a thick fog is best.

Nothing moves these days
but the rhythm, our wet flesh
and nothing is best.

Sticky itchy skunky stinky.....puff puff puff puff no need to give.... Colby's got his own big fatty as we slowly trim.
But boy it's getting warm up here ....time for second breakfast....toss me one Dem cold ones before the I load the bow for deer.

The scent of strong coffee reminds me of the mess hall on the Cleveland; smells of sausage and powdered eggs.. but its the deep brown of that "ground" whether the beans columbian or Starbucks from africa, early mornings now are remiss at 10am.
Pour a bowl of rice cereal, crackling in the milk ... My breakfast with the price is right on the hd flatscreen... The winners and applause motivate the late sleepers, wake and bake --wothout the chaos of fusion kitchens... I miss the smell of coffee in the early morning, on the pier, the brine of pacific highway beaches... Cali a far away dream...
Vegas smells of sin, **** and swill, sweat and skunky trees, smoke gets in the eyes,
Boys didnt cry... Why i wonder. A distant thunder, coastal storm,
Its the sound heard
From lives torn asunder....
Filthy as the ground, thoughts that stay awake with strong
Coffee
Grounds...