There’s smoke and a stick of passionate relaxation
(how the two are one we’ll never know)
I like how the night feels
Cigarette wands and smoke bats
spiders crab scuttling the asphalt
round sun’s brew
drinking sweet moon liqueur.
Drunken never lights that sign conservative window closing
from the witch moon who embraces spectre clouds
grey glowing embers of dying tomorrows.
I hold ‘tween my fingers the wand that waves
the moon douses sun.
I like the night, the haze
inhale sedation exhale seduction.
(now snuff. The smoke
and fake philosophy.)