Oh God
that aroma
like the incense
the monks would burn
or the patchouli
of the long blonde
hippie girls
on 9th street
back in the day
or is it just
a joint burning
glowing tip
brings you closer
to the sweet surrender
to the beat
pop a down
from the edge of my hand
are you still
a voodoo child?
are you still there
my plum?
Forefinger to thumb
don’t you know
how to pass it?
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
