I.        Captivity

The stench of bong water that follows like a stagnant cloud.  
Roll on Old Spice, pock-marked face, tie dye baseball tee.                                       
You’re a self medicated stoner with a blowtorch to battle                                     
abjection. No D.A.R.E program could keep you from                                       
imparting your smoke to me. A secondhand high.

 Continue reading →