Marcello Colasurdo Poet I do not know?

420

Backyard summer time blazing,
jiggers packed down with precision.
First few thoughts, simply amazing,
prepping my mind for tunnel vision. 

Roller coasting beyond the storm,
strapped into buzzed up seats.
Lungs that feel so smokey warm, 
drum line chorus heart beats. 

Eyes that bleed without blood,
cheekbones relaxed, muscles calm.
Shaking up and grinding that bud,
measuring blindly inside a palm. 

Four doobies now long forgotten,
sentences that flow without tense.
Drier taste and mouths of cotton,
the world around makes no sense.

Bags of twinkies, chocolate chips,
vanilla pudding and toast bread.
Hunger dangling from cracked lips,
spiral imaginings inside my head.

Numbness fading and reality wins,
five pounds heavier than before.
Until tomorrow when it again begins,
fourty ounces locked in a drawer.

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