Grass Tastes Like This

Too far away from these or those,

the quiet chirp.

I’m not nearly as mad

                             when I inhale & catch the liquid

& sit & talk

& remember when we swore off this

life /

praised the sun

naked.

Caught the light off of leaves we chewed, listening intently to nothing much at all. We said more than once

that the speech we used

would only be exalted.

Now I sit here away from home,

with work, bills, my rough hands

& blunt tongue:

content with this cigarette all these years latter,

the music is still there but the mode has changed.

And when you sat there

tying an arm around yourself,

when I woke up with

that scent in my blood &

adjusted my eyes to the

steady lack of light,

put on cloths & set out,

I thought about not thinking

until I laughed.