Small Feet in Big Shoes

Buy pot, smoke pot
Buy beer, drink beer
Buy drug, take drug
This magnificnt
vessel of a body
is a lake
of polluted,
lifeless water.
It is still.
Stagnant. On my
last vacation here
I hooked a
fine, large bass
and it told me that
life thrives and
dwindles among the
sediment, yet
it cannot seek the sun.

We graze in a
feld of green
that will never
receive what it
needs to
flourish alone;
life is fruitless
or heavy, like
carrying a
suitcase full
of money on a
subway train. We
know neither
where we
take
it,
nor what it even
means. With
each step away
from the tracks
downward facing crystals
grow inside
of us and
they make us
feel like life
is weight.
They make us feel
like shit.

Where are the
the lilies blooming
this year? Not
in our eyes or
our souls, but
instead potpourri
the shores of
a far
away lake.
Nothing but a green
giant grows
within us,
within you. Jack
must face the world
from the peak
of his beanstalk,
and his hands
are cut
and bloody
from handling
seeds and
leaves, but he
continues to
the summit.
And where is this
virtue in
his (our) journey?

Weed, money.
A train
A web
A race--nervousness.
It is ironic
that such insipid
forms of inanimacy
are where the
weak find their
salvation.