Tag Archives: cannabis

Skyline

   

                        Come on

                                                               let’s go

            we’re going

                                           to Skyline

      way up windy

                                                  Highway 9

             the windows down

                            thru the redwoods

                  to the ridge

                               just to see all

          the sodium lamps blink

                                             from miles away

    on one side of the street

                                                 maybe the ocean

   at the end of the forest


                                                    or a sea of clouds

  on the other side

                                                where I got a djembe

 to bounce off a distant mountain

                                   & cried like quiet fireworks

 on the fourth of July

                              I’d eat some rootbark

    watch the lunar eclipse 

                            on a blanket

                smoke bowls

                         adjust aperture settings

                         until sunrise 

                they never used

                                       to bother us

           we got lost back there

                              ran jeanslapping & ticklegged

         on one occasion too

                                    all the way down the hillside

  like flatlander baffoons

                                what if this small community

never broke apart like I did

                              who left still rides the 9

  way up windy Skyline

                       the other way to castle rock

         or the old trail that led up

                 to the boulders on the top 

                         of the mountain overlooking

          San José, Los Gatos, Saratoga

                                 Campbell, Milpitas, & the bay

     they shut it down 

                             because of spotted horned owls

  just a gate you had to hop

                    probably more an excuse for the art 

& other forms of debauchery

                          we’d perform like a sacred ritual

  until sunset getting so fucking high

                                   we couldn’t even figure out

           the local kids took a screwdriver

                                        to the tires on the car

                          it had been dark a while

                          before the tow truck driver came

                                  said he grew up driving the 9

                     while we went over waves full speed

                      tears of sparks cried from the mirror

             I had to wonder if you were a fan 

                     of sucking the glass dick

                                 one night we were out there

         & the weirdest thing happened

                 we stayed until sunset smoking blunts

    the shadow of the mountain 

                           crept it’s way over the blinking 

streetlights turning on down there

                                    we could hear a television

    on loud from hella far away

                                   way way out over yonder

                  but it wasn’t actually

                                 we listened closely

                      we couldn’t believe it

                                 people were playing 

                                 the hokey pokey

                      somewhere down the mountain

            where our laughter must have roared

       echoed through the thick forest

                                                       we were above

  though the sounds grew louder

                                             the people were slowly 

getting closer

                               that’s when it dawned upon us

  it was an old recording

                                                maybe from the 50’s

     looping over & over

                                 from a small raspy speaker 

                coming up the trail beneath us—

         You put your head in

   You put your head out

          You put your head in

                           & you bang it all about

                                         —I wanted to stay

                           one of the girls booked it

                                     we all took off like a mob 

                                  into the dark forest

                                  the only flashlight we had

                                      started strobing 

                           then totally died

                                         like the beginning

                     of a horror movie

                                                    left open ended

          there were these tunnels

                                      you’d have to crawl under 

      somehow forged thru manzinita

                                     by wildcats & rock climbers

  we’d get on our hands & knees

                                          with backpacks & the acid 

already fully metabolized

                                                  waiting for the effects

  that would hit us on

                                                      the sandstone rock

    overlooking thirty miles

                     of the Santa Cruz mountain range

             a single oak tree growing up shading

                                                      like a symbol

                        bowls & shelves formed

                            into it with lichens at the surface

                                        barefoot in the sun

                                        back when pipes 

                             still had personalities

                                             we’d speak in paradox

                       or not at all

                           gaze out over the whole forest

               dancing & the pastel mandalasky

                                     rippling forever & ever 

        we got to see it with our own eyes

                                     & yeah we were a little late

      getting back to the cars

                                                  everyone was gone

  except a ranger with his light

                        shining in our dilated faces

most of us still carrying our shoes

            after soaking our feet in the water

                          I had to talk my way 

  out of a ticket I was so sorry

                    for wasting their time

    we didn’t know how long

             it would take to get back here

             we were so far out there

       enjoying the park

who was it that put on

     Stevie Ray Vaughn 

                 I couldn’t handle it

I had to drive back home

                        down the windy 9 in the dark

   You need to turn this shit off

                               There are snakes in his throat




.


Side effects

The whole house fucking reeks
no—I bet the entire
mountainside knows
today is harvest
like if a skunky cheesecake
grew on a plant
breathed it’s spirits
into the sky
one stalk at a time
the black hash melts
on my hands into my skin
my blood & bones
some of it was wiped away
with the honey off
my feral fingers at lunch
I feel like passing out
but I’ll write this first
it’s sticky then it’s smooth
I could roll up a ball
and smoke it, I’d rather
lay around and dream
with a body pillow
on both sides sprawled by a fan
while the cicadas light up
like fireworks—like that
thing that happens inside of me
sometimes you just gotta
wait some more
while the leaves wither
the mind wanders
quiet solitude
half way to heaven
I’ll wake up
rock hard and throbbing
knowing you’re out there




.



Las siestas

Somehow                                             I always end
                                              up here by the water
 with dirty feet
  it flashes back
                                          this other world
                                         we’re in now
looks like a dream
     it’s so consistent
                                                I know
                                                 so meet me by the lake
 somehow with dirty feet
flashback to the songbirds
                                           
     in the forest I’m awake
                                                but I was there again
           by the water
      with dirty feet
                                                     dirty toenails
                                                         I live alone
        during the day
               I’m not alone
                                                       by the lake
                                                I’ll pick the lighter up
  with my toes
I’ll take the clover honey
                                               from the cupboard
                                              I’ll keep it on the counter
      ’til it’s gone
 I’ll smoke a joint
                                               outside in the shade
                                                   it used to seem
so much more random
             than this leaking
                                                locality from both sides
                                                              what am I



.



How did I never realize it was a snake

Last night I was looking at some art
On instagram of all places, right, well
You’d be surprised what you can find
In even the most vacuous of dimensions 
Seeing circles inside of scales
Circles inside of scales of a snake
Hanging down above a mans forehead
Who was laying down with a river of tears
Getting wider down off the screen smiling
A hole in his forehead where the snake
With the circles inside of its scales
Dripped drops of water down into it
From its mouth—are you fucking serious
I murmured dumbfounded to myself
How did I never see this before


How did I never realize it was a snake




.


The sound of ten toes cracking

With their tires moving thru the rain
I won’t be the one who says you can
You know that your knife’s getting weak
Boy getting weak in your hands
To Beercan island with those old tires moving thru the rain
Into the parking lots of unsuspecting condos

sometimes running on the pavement to the beach
Where shiny new shoes and hammerhead sharks on wheels
wouldn’t dare past a swoop
but we would with our barefeet moving through
the white sand beach between our toes in the night 
Where dreams should have been glowing
there were other ones between our lips
Like little blue stars of the oceans living swirl
in the dark waves lapped the shore of everything was
In the night with our toes moving through the wet sand
We called it Russia like when we were all
over each other by the bonfire it was snow
between the trees growing up from it like a warm forest
where we joined fueled by whatever stars we could fit
in our packs and find by the fire lit
that night glowing galactic & jealous
Living liquid like the ocean into both of you
lapped up the shore glowing
Let’s leave this world tonight
 That aint right
         Yes it is
         Yes it is
         Yes it is

 ‘Cause honestly
I’d rather just wear my blue hoodie
& my underwear I’d rather just
          yes the glowing world tonight
                  sitting there smoking a blunt
             & having an orgasm
                                                      I’m one of
                                           the last poets
                                                ever to live



Death smells like lemongrass

they used to burn these woods all winter

now the summers do themselves

they had a system worked out
that would emphasize the abundance

the entire territory was the garden
alive and growing like the mind
stepped outside of itself
and began to dance

time’s pole shifted a while back—
yeah—we were in reverse now
didn’t you know—

it’s not a place
until you make it one

like a ring just to see
what your limitations are

how well can you put last years
lessons into practice

a game of hectares, furrowslices & spreadsheets

a temple of agronomical meditation with mantises

when you’re there it consumes you
because it is you because of you

the pregnant deer barrelrolling with a smile
over your first edition fence

a place not to play god but to laugh quietly
in his face—the silence blowing thru the pines

you go there not to forget but you end up doing so
honing in on the accuracy of inputs and outputs

compost teas and microbial inoculants are to soil what kombucha and kimchi are to humans

observation becomes communication
every day—every hour sings a different tune

the finches sneak roosts in the trees 
that weren’t there before you decided
to put them there with leaves tracking the sun

bred, birthed, tended, ammended, and cut down
after eight months of watchful eyes

peering down and counting from the blackbird in the sky

it’s the same song by an evolving band
never once played the same way again

you were either there for it or you weren’t…

lentils spiralcrawl the trellis next to hairy vetch, cowpeas, and carter flax

what started as an idea and came out of a wound
of the corrupt earth to colonize with mycorrhizae

under the moonlight and with the stars we move slow like kelp
into our dying selves taking pictures

of the natural beauty—the sustenence of our meddling—the deathsmiling work at dawn

bees land on the battered tools and machines
some of the butterflies know to evade the bamboo deerfence

brought down by something as simple
as a foot of snow and ice howling

on paper you play the less goes in
more comes out game while battling hazard after hazard

like caltrans spraying fusarium infected cyclamen
on the side of highways to eat weeds

now the amber jars of essential oils
of lemongrass ginger rosemary peppermint
and lavender are miscible on the counter

isaria fumosorosea in the fridge
will mummify them in threads of mycelium
from the inside out

would a buddhist let her buds rot
or would she feed the caterpillars
bioinsecticides for supper

would she breathe and eat the spores of decay
or kill the ones that would cause it responsibly

you can’t bullshit yourself in the garden
it’s right there in your face all the time

everything you’ve done to make it that way
you switch it up—you stick with what works

you learn from your mistakes

even when you leave it you can see it like it gets sucked up inside of you and you carry it around

like a bluejay does a pine needle

you want to know that what you’ve grown
is nutrient dense with proteins

mineral balanced and alive

free from heavy metals, pests and diseases

not like the sugarpacked shit they sell
as produce at most supermarkets
sprayed with cheap deathchems in tyvek

this world is bleak as fuck—doomed to a slow painful death

but it isn’t in the garden

or it doesn’t have to be at least
you spend so much time as one
you know what to expect

you do it right and it can provide you with almost everything you need

all the worries lugged around as a human
dissipate among the quinoa, crimson clover, and buckwheat
at the bottom of the hill

the seeds of medicine to be cherished
in their infinite variation in the fall

where the garden doesn’t end
because of the bad weather
it doesn’t crawl into it’s cave
of the mind and hibernate until spring

they hire seasonal workers come croptober
to hunt us down like bucks on the highways

the garden comes from the mind
and so it returns 

sometimes it shows up in small baggies
in urban areas where people dream of gardening someday

Headband

                               Bend the crutch
            into a [Z]

                                fold the rice paper
                     in half
    longways
                     from the windfarm

      it’s a beautiful day here
under the olivegreen oaks

                                                       origami
              that we’ll burn

                                                          break it up
    with your hands
                                     your fingernails
we’re in no hurry

                                                         it’s sticky
                     to the touch

             a complex medley
                                    of aromatic compounds
nothing but good
                                                so good
             we knew it
                                                                 all along

                             add some hash
                                     why not
     it will last longer

                                                little cone
         wrapped tight
                          and sweet
                                     with a quick lick
       along the edge

                                                        spark the end
and breathe it in
                    slow
                                                                deep

             civilizations
                                                           exhalations

                      like it’s the last thing
                                    we’ll ever do

                                                                      until
the next one