In our akin-ed addictions
and small-world location
we became friends.
Still weekdays in,
we'd go outside
and laugh at coughs
and lie to cops
and lick the cush
to seal the joints
we'd come to smoke.
Knowing destinations
to toke, eat cheap, and chill,
we drove around
and around until
we'd emptied our fascinations.
Then in morning
we'd drive cale home,
passed signs of warning--
cautioning the route to rome.
1 comment:
I guess I don't know, for sure what else there is to write about.
It's either despair or anger, I think, or sometimes love.
Do you ever get angry? You could write about that.
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