Strains

This is to the blue dream of Pablo Picasso.

The sour diesel from an 18-wheeler traversing Colorado mountains

and picking up hitchhikers like Mr. Jack Herer and GrandDaddy Purple.

This is to the White Widow that talks you up like a storm.

The Green Crack that snaps attack without a lack---

a snack cake sugar drape, up out of whack.

The Pineapple Express where a ticket isn't needed but you'll miss many stations.

Or the Trainwreck off the frozen bridge where miles away the empty milk bottles on the porch tinkle.

Oh, the OG Kush. My tongue I swear is plaid.

To the Mimosa that will ghost ya to focus focus focus.

The Northern Lights will sail you to the land of nod

where AK-47 helps one swim the underwater mazes under the library.

To an island where Durban Poison is changing your name

in the Amnesia Haze of 9 Pound Hammers.

Where Strawberry Cough takes me in a blimp over Cairo

as I reach for my Headband that is a childhood hallway,

down the stairs to the conservatory where waits Colonel Mustard and the candlestick.