a bag of dope
a six foot bong
and thou

toke up my love
you onle get once
chance to paint the
smoke zone full of
rainbow rasta colors
before it dissipates
into vapor later to
fade and fall as dust
in fractal patterns

it is not our place
to gather up the jibs
that fall under the table
those are for jah
no need to worry about
nothing or the not-nothing
either way is a-ok