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Like me, weed has laid him low.
Finally,
a drug that justifies one’s genetic desire
to stay at home via
the intensified appeal
of the private everyday:
meals, music, video games & tv shows.
Cannabis for us implies less
an angry flight from reality
than a rare shot at omniscience;
(being privately schooled suburban kids,
criticism, judgement & expertise
are habits you have to qualify
before a disbelieving panel
badges you with belief.)
Thus. Is it such a sin
that we supplement our indolence
with the feeling that everything is
either, a)
perfectly, brilliantly, happily intense,
or b) soul-destroying shit rich-deserving
all the hilarious disdain it gets?