Tuesday, May 03, 2005

untitled

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?

3 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

What a load of bullshit.

12:12 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Screw you anonymous.

Nice Foxy.

Nice pull between certainty and apathy in actually thinking about whether what i'm doing is meaningful or meaningless, valid or useless.....

post more poems please.

cheers.

mKd
aka jerka's shoulders....

12:53 PM  
Blogger focy said...

cheers js.

2:36 PM  

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