Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Day 46/366

He lights it up,
Takes one long pull,
Keeps it inside,
Then follows the three drag rule.

Plays some ambient music,
Little or no lyrics are heard,
He lets his thoughts slow,
Till he sees the shadow of a bird.

The little birdy perched on his chair,
Without a beak, it stares and glares,
He knows he is high, 
And still trusts what he sees,
At the end of the night,
He buries the dead, green parakeet.