Open House

Posted: February 25, 2014 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , ,

medical_marijuana
We follow the new song-lines through the suburbs,
Seeking sacred green in the gathering storm.
Wondering where and why and who?
A pleasing crumble and the stench of apathy,
So relaxing and somehow funny:
If there is no sign go on in.
You and I, blackfella whitefella, are now brothers of the bud.
Thirty bucks to end anxiety,
Thirty bucks to crush depression,
No more pain or pointless longing for release!
And if anyone dobs them in or tries to rip them off-
There are fifteen cousins to answer to!

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