Just hit the pipe.
It’s just some pot.
Nothing heavy like heroin, cocaine or alcohol.
Haven’t written in a few days, but the writing is an old friend so odds are it will forgive me.
I know we’re on thin ice ever since I confessed to feeling love and you’re still trying to keep it casual in your head even though the rest of your body is warm for my form.
There’s no denying I’m an instigator even when I’m saying nothing, eyes closed, hands unclenched.
They say Bernie Sanders is a socialist like that’s a mark against him.
Conservative media, liberal media they’re all eating and drinking from the same trough. The only one who is telling the truth other than Bernie is Elizabeth Warren, but she’s not running and Bernie doesn’t have a chance in hell of even winning the nomination.
This poem is all over the map because I cannot afford GPS. In fact I still have a flip phone and it’s plenty smart enough for me.
Going to reload the pipe.
Then I am going to imagine you naked and spewing poetry and other juices from your most trusted of orifices.
We’re chatting on FB and I just asked you if you were shaved. I know you will either say no comment or stonewall me as you have a habit of doing. Trust me I understand how awful it is wrestling with guilt. I also know we’re skating on thin ice and that global warming should be scaring us into real action.
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