OG Kush, aka a second head, less anxious and broody, to replace your regular head which won’t stop talking about the absurdity of death
stay blunted
everything you want to know is a secret
no one really knows what happens
and that green elm tree in the sun outside
can’t tell you anything about tomorrow
or why the heart, against all love and comfort, seeks its own evisceration
like a dark eyed rabbit in the woods
quiet, giving itself to wolves and foxes.
don’t be morose, get away from the window
stop staring at the elm tree
shaking its green windy branches at you.
it cannot speak.
smoke another bowl and go back to sleep.
Love Poem by Louise Glück
There is always something to be made of pain.
Your mother knits.
She turns out scarves in every shade of red.
They were for Christmas, and they kept you warm
while she married over and over, taking you
along. How could it work,
when all those years she stored her widowed heart
as though the dead come back.
No wonder you are the way you are,
afraid of blood, your women
like one brick wall after another.
