Burnt out stars cascade a pretty handful
of pretty things into the champagne bottle;
the handsome things that do begin_and end at
the entrance of sleep/whilst awake.
do you want the colored-so-perfectly people to
be the greeting into this world_
imagine the love you could fold in half
over & over at the philosophy rant of
a gentleman. I love you.

the ever changing stars we are
smoking away the evening so perfectly with
mirrors so magnificently magnified
a shoulder at seven pm or
a sideways glance/sunset
the best angles of things can always be captured
under the cover_
allowing not always an escape

and I was really fucked up
can't even remember what it was that
I kept smiling at
or why or who in the middle of the night
without rest you fashionably screaming two
on the front yard with the sky too far above
and our hands firmly grounded and
planted and growing among the grassblades
or candy scented punishment_
he must of known, his face a smirk.
his face the burning essence of a cool confidence
so gross and assuring
of an ugliness not too far below.
but some of the best times happen
when you are above it_when you're high.

and words are flowing, the weed is glowing
at your darling fingertips_a precious smoke
at your lips, deep inside of your porcelain strong lungs.
a head so light_at the process of fulfillment.
sexually satisfying, rejuvenating. refilling
the beautiful green leaf into
who you are now
and who you were then..

while their eyes are rolling into the back of their heads
with merriment & glee
at wishing nothing but the worst for you
deep inside their hearts, you know they do.
hands twisting at my throat
unreachable through the coughing that is the laughing
and what becomes the changing_less paranoid
you damn glare.

marijuana
marijuana
marijuana

and when I have you,
you know I want you-
the gorgeous green_
inducing dreams like it's such a big thing..

[well it is]

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