Purse your lips against old
rolled mary-jane made only
from the best imported
Columbian black,
While you settle back
into the sofa of your body
and let the wafting smoke
dance the Apache
in and out of your muddled vision,
dancing in and out of mirages
and misunderstandings
--while you stand up
tall from your high place
and judge the rest of us,
looking down from atop
the bridge of your nose.
...........meanwhile,
the drip drip drip
of the leaky faucet
hammers a tattoo upon
your retreating consciousness.
Biological drips;
...........drip
steadily into your bloodstream,
constantly jogging your memory
to the fact that underneath
that stratum of macromolecules,
life steadily decreases until
all is extinguished into
blank unsettling nothingness--
where Jesus is still
walking on the water.
You jerk awake and gouge
the sleep hiding in the corners
of your eyes, while you clear
away the smoke that is still
hovering above your head,
but is no longer dancing
but rather brooding
in the corner--
much like you.
