Monday, August 4, 2008

Thoughts on Being Stoned

There were many factors
to consider when approaching
my momentary insanity.
Ev was right when she said:
"Your thumb is going to be sore."
She was right when she said that

The first time I inhaled, I told myself:
"I'm fine."
I said that after the first time I inhaled.
And that's where we found the
lapse of rational thinking


That was what I wanted
I didn't want to say it aloud
I would have shouted it, if I did.

Do my clothes smell like it? Romance?
No, the weed.
The craziness that ensued, remember?
I won't be with someone
who likes dragonflies. That's what I realized.
Loss of function.
Romance ensued.

I started to believe I wanted some of that.
Also, that I wanted goose liver pate
Fois de-something
I wanted shoes too.
I suddenly wanted Mikhail Baryshnikov
to read me poetry

(What do I smell like) Paranoia?
I want to hold hands with someone
who plays Beethoven's something
with his hands.
I am stoned
I am hungry
I can't dance right.

(Is everything just a little too entertaining) Paranoia?
I am slow
I could not make out "relevations" vs. "revelations"
Same word, right?
I didn't ask.

I also wanted someone to "slam fuck" me.
And I can't even take credit for that phrase
It was told to me by a "Mikhail."
When my knees are steady and wrapped
around a man's hips,
I will laugh loudly.
And this man must paint or some shit.

But there were many factors to consider.
I was high, of course.
Cookies and potatos tasted like Apollo's
sunstreaked fingers dipped in Venus' honey.
I can't go around saying shit like this.

Inaccurate and pejorative desires;
I am not devout.
I am too honest right now and still too coherent.

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