If you need to smoke a bowl, drink a beer
or further lobotomize yourself everyday
in order to keep life’s baying blues at bay,
then I think we hebben een serieus problem here:
your boated brain is drifting toward the wier;
your loggèd lungs are in death’s dossier;
you baked the host but then forgot to pray;
you cowboyed yonder yet forgot the steer—
from seafloor slime God made eukaryote
and multiplied them into thinking minds
whose capricious nature accidented sin;
and now you burn that bush as antidote,
sunk in the couch and drawing blackout blinds
conditioned to the condition that you’re in.