smoke
LeaderOfMen
Posts: 110
I go threw more herb then KFC
The doctor said I gotta quit
Or that will be the end for me
All these years I could not see
What the green has done to me
Its fried my brain, done nothing for my health
Made me forget
All the things, I should remember
But I can't, and I won't
Cause for 5 long years
My lungs have been full of smoke.
The doctor said I gotta quit
Or that will be the end for me
All these years I could not see
What the green has done to me
Its fried my brain, done nothing for my health
Made me forget
All the things, I should remember
But I can't, and I won't
Cause for 5 long years
My lungs have been full of smoke.
I will make the world a better place...with my own, two hands.
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as the wallpaper dances,
when I look at the sink,
it sinks.
The reflection
makes me turn away,
can't believe mind's eye today.
(I know how ya feel, LeaderOfMen. I'm on the road to quittin' the 'erb for the same reasons pretty much
Stoned
A small bedroom sits unkempt
Socks of both white cotton and navy blue nylon hang
From the ends of half open drawers
adolescent sailors on their maiden voyage
vomiting over the bow as their vessel rocks
past the treacherous seas of lava lamps
bright red luminescence covers a blue
down blanket, as gales spit fury in globs
from the base of the lamp, the brightness
of the light moves from place to place, north
south from pillows to the foot of the bed
the blanket takes on it’s own cycle of day and night
stormy and calm, all determined by a shifting
shapeless color, powered by electricity from
the socket that sits noiselessly behind a bookcase
against the windowed wall facing the mild afternoon
A door opens slowly, muscles overwhelm
The force of friction
Created by the heaps of multicolored sweaters,
Yellow and red tie-die t-shirts, and hemp paraphernalia
So that five people can enter the room
Stumbling first, giggling second
Staring through stoned eyes, funhouse mirror lenses
That makes the sunlight appear as if it is
Sliding back and forth over the blinds,
they wipe their hands on
Corduroy pants and stare down to
clammy sweat coated palms
the room is assaulted by an odor of cheap tacos
candles cover bookcases and a dusty desk
while incense fights feverishly to regain control
of the room’s personal aroma
but the fast-food junkies are too high to notice
riding spiral straws in Styrofoam cups through the stratosphere
Bursting through rain clouds eating lightning
Stopping only to punch through the o-zone with
A forceful drum beat before passing the pipe
Floating on clouds the unshaven polytheists
Discuss Jimi Hendrix, Jerry Garcia
And the other minor guitar Gods
Beating rhythms against their thighs
Sprawled in a semi-circle
So far from Arthur’s Camelot, but only a thought away
Amazed by the weed’s potency
So amazed they barely have enough words at hand to describe it
They stumble over token phrases
Staring into the fire, strengthened by lungs
Black rises to orange, and settles again to darkness
“yeah, where’d you get it?”
Sucking bliss through colored swirls of glass
Greens and blues and yellows coalescing
Rainbow colored smoke sinks into their blood
And peace into their smiles, half crooked and uncaring
“my boy hooks me up, you know how it goes”
Laughing and grunting like their ancestors
Painting a canvas of optimism with brushes of desire
Motion becomes unnecessary as they sink further
Into that primordial seas of human emotion and let
It wash over them, eroding to that cavernous
Labyrinth in their genetic code
Travelling down the endless roadways carved in trails of light
On the back of their eyelids
And as each lane narrows and you follow the light to an old girlfriend
Or yourself headlining Madison Square garden
When the lights dim and your microphone is a podium
Giving a state of the union that begins with, under this administration
Tyranny has ended
“Pot has been legalized!”
Licking dry, cracked lips
Imagining a waterfall rushing into their throats
Slurping from the sink will have to do
The conversation meander to conjecture in a stream of consciousness
“The trees are dying”
“The rainforests disappear”
“Bush is a fuckin’ asshole”
“Sunoco and Paul Bunyan in one”
“Paul Bunyan riding in an SUV”
The crowd disperses while smoke lingers
like a gathering storm, cool air from a fan in
the corner of a room rushed into the warm herb front
ready to break onto phish posters and spray
the crust speckled carpet with it’s toxins
noiseless but potent, repulsive to lurking
little sisters
The crowd of enlightenment seekers falls into
The niches of the house
Couches
Lazyboy Reclining Chairs
Or beds
And pass out
For 20
Minutes