My friend’s House Pots adapting reds and greens bloomed. Someone’s homegrown we consumed. I sit here as a self-centered being with my friend’s eyes always seeing pots beneath gray pots with flowers nestled. Trays hold water for a kitten’s desire while rolled papers blow in La Mesa winds that we always admire. A sea shell rests its vibrant body upon a green table; matches and cigarettes, lighters and Zippos, a camel pack with a warning label. A bottle arrives to help us go wild without any type of hesitations. The shell now contains roaches that burned from our devious conversations. An ice cream wrapper suddenly falls to its death as my friend bites the sugar cone and takes another breath. I look down as a roach burns in my fingers with that smell that always lingers. I look over next to me as I see an old man’s wrench lying across a burning hood with kitty litter next to fresh packs of wood. This is definitely the place where I will never leave misunderstood.
Posted on: Mon, 02 Sep 2013 02:21:13 +0000
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