It was a hurtful image for me,
watching young ason pick up a
dropped cigarette…
followed a trail of spilled soda
on the way to play hopscotch
on the clouds
where I lost my innocence
puddle’s of whiskey on the concrete,
dripping down broken streetlights
where angel’s kissed a runaway
and left stains of unfulfilled desires
on dew damp bus stop’s
a smoking cipher of thieves
French inhaling replica buddhas
rolled in ripped out king jame’s
pages
took a hit of Jimi Hendrix…
now I know
the taste of purple haze
when the fog hits my palate
1st chapter written on
Tito Jose’s half smoked
Marlboro
Epilogue written on forearm
cigarette burns, covered in tattoos
ink in B minor
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