Blended High by Doug Stoiber

There are moments in each day, when a lengthy silence tempered by organic mood relaxer
Is just the balm for a poor, empathetic character (like yrs trly) poised on the brink of disaster.
With myself
No one else

Day is done and on the way to ushering another one, shuffling off into the dark
Another one to peep pleasantly from scattering pink-peach-palest orange-red
When night escapes the daylight’s insistence that we not stay abed
‘Til such a foolish hour that we sleep right through the music of the morning lark

Speaking of factors like herb mood relaxers, I have moments when it’s not enough
To just ingest a cloud
A tint must be allowed
To blend the high with something I can sip, or swirl or quaff

The blended high, calibrated perfectly for maximum restful quiet and enjoyment
Calming all the riot in my heart
Imparting all the properties of chemicals and aldehydes set free to buff my mind’s rough edges
Adjust my excited imagination to a pace and pattern at which I can most fully appreciate its
mysterious progress

A crisp and biting pale ale, striking flares of sparks across the page in front of me, abetted by the
weed
Red wine, piquant, tart and earthy, wreathed in smoke, wherein notions are planted
Whiskey, brown and burning, pairs impeccable with herb, entertaining every sort of gruff or
graceful tale
Smoked and drinked

One moment, please, I’m blending.
And having done
With most agreeable results
I think I’ll blend another one.

 

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