It's days like these.



Those few days each year when it's t shirt weather
and for once the cannabliss plants look satisfied,
pink milky babies bottles of cider,
fuking fluoride for this rotting tooth of a nuclear nation,
it will take more than the flashlight of authority,
to turn of the light in a chillum of this starlit warm night,
those who say the solstice moon does not affect us,
should hear the chemical chains rattle on the asylum on the hill.



It's oak wood elm of a sunny lake herb garden
and it's dancing hot days like these, you sign on all year for.

~