Poems

The Haze of a Nation

The Haze of a Nation

Puff Puff: smokers delight)
              sweet weed gets me high

from a low place where we reside 
[lost in the vortex of Yeat’s gyre…]
a reality struck, 
and, 
completely fucked with oxymorons 
and golden hair Buff Oons -whoooo 
wrongly emphasize 
lies. 
In such grandiloquence, 
we___
       fall 
under the sway of his Rohypnol;
placed in our glass, 
while we cheered his indiscrete acts. 

Smoke, smoke, smoke it away. 

A completely successful 
robbery witnessed on national t.v., 
enforced on the indigenous 
by sparkling chested heroes 
with small dicks and heavy belts. 
Salute them?
Those who have repressed time and again, 
and again will stop at nothing 
to blindly follow golden rules - 
no matter how much insanity 
they scream, 
the screams 
fall unheard as echoes muted 
in forgotten dreams 
            ___where the shadows rule. 
Yes, “get high,” I think I will…
even if it makes me a criminal. 
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A Special Seed

From a puny brown oval shell
shoots two, and two with carved edges. 
In anticipation of a higher 
day, given from mother nature. 

Twelve weeks past in culminating
redolence, verging to obnoxious, 
as sap oozes from cola pockets 
of sticky crystallized emeralds.    

Trichomes glint as light passes over
thick stalks ready to snap under 
dripping, bulbous flowers, staked 
upright to support our sanity. 

Moving amongst the woozy plants
is magic to another day, for kids 
who dreamed of mirages melted away. 
So we snip, hang, and burn in a cure, 
of fantasy’s lost in a haze.