South Sudan
Tha smella weed smells like early mornings with the window open
and the sky turning violet blue lilac pink bliss,
like late lunches or brunches with ice coffee and cigarettes,
like fun afternoons with mixed drinks maybe mojitos made by hand
and dinner parties, dinners made in the kitchen
while bottles of wine go upside down into glass decanters
that pour through lips over and over again,
like cocktails after work (work) (what is work),
like sunsets never seen and stars blocked by the haze
of New York at night and it’s after midnight, afterhours,
after all we are alone in this.
.
it smells like ten o clock in the garden of nineteenth
and dinner is on the table, a spread for kings and queens and me
I don’t eat meat and still I am living for this is life and me,
I am in the presence of so many people I would never otherwise know
were not for that which seems random but maybe thas not so.
.
Ju know what I’m talkinn bout
.
I’m sitting in the garden on a chair of wrought iron
with a plate fulls goodness and the spliff’s cominn this way
and I’m sure to be drinking white wine, eternally frozen in this moment,
and I’m inhaling and I’m holding and exhaling and inhaling and I feel
.
this thing
.
and it takes over me so slowly like I’m swimming through a cloud
and wow I like this cause I’m not goinn anywhere everywhere at the same time
and I am lost then found then nothing at all, evaporated and all that remains is this,
a puff of smoke coming out my mouth and floating through the world
until it smells like nothing so much as heaven and I am here,
.
dirty and pure.
.
And I’m in the garden with the snake
—what up—
talkinn about munchies and I have to stop eating because you can’t have it all
because less is more and the laws of style always apply.
I’m thinking apple, something big and shiny and red and it gleams like my eyes,
like your blood upon my lips.
.
give me the apple & I will learn.
.
Weed smells like weed smells like did I just say that twice.
Yea I love to hear words as rhythms and tones and flows
until they stop making sense and that’s Talking Heads
and sometimes I stop listening to the words.
.
~Miss Rosen