Distension in the gutteral under-jellied belly
Of the source of your demise
And how surprised you look
Though you found out
Through the looking glass
That grass you smoked
Had passed its sell by date
But what the hell
Its purple tinged amusement arcade
Catered for your times of woe
And gleaming windows to your soul
Would bear themselves
And shelve all plans
For that rainy day that never came
Along to wondrous philistines
Who likened you to gristle
As the cardamom would fizzle
With the cinnamon and skag
All the playground whistles drowned by
Gunshots from your water-pistol
And the teachers turned eyes blind
Ducking their heads in the sand
As they play at weekend soldiers
And forget to read the headlines
If they're not above the beauties
Who have nothing real to say
So I say this to you,
Dormant, crawling, something in the making
Wake your soul up from its slumber
And skin up another joint.