Stoned in the woods
And the addict – his mind chasing wet trees.
The Elms and the birch are awaiting
The fruit bats of cannabinoids.
The mind is scattering – between fingers.
A stately roach, the sky is built from pyramids
The smoke is redolent.
He’s been given lavender sachets to sleep.
Crushing sides, apex by apex,
Confident he can sense modern life
In the town through heavy branches,
The dark is a hallucination
Though the leaves are virtually soundless
And this withdrawal is one of movement.
The glass insects fumble for the moon
Brainsick as warm as the sap
Spread far up a sycamore bough.
first published by The Journal 2015
copyright © John Vickers
And the addict – his mind chasing wet trees.
The Elms and the birch are awaiting
The fruit bats of cannabinoids.
The mind is scattering – between fingers.
A stately roach, the sky is built from pyramids
The smoke is redolent.
He’s been given lavender sachets to sleep.
Crushing sides, apex by apex,
Confident he can sense modern life
In the town through heavy branches,
The dark is a hallucination
Though the leaves are virtually soundless
And this withdrawal is one of movement.
The glass insects fumble for the moon
Brainsick as warm as the sap
Spread far up a sycamore bough.
first published by The Journal 2015
copyright © John Vickers