PENKNIFE

follow the weed smoke.
here 3 boys sit on a bench
by a fence in a field
with a hedge and a road
and a row of young houses
they are grinning they are talking
they get serious somewhere walking
then they joke when they smoke
follow the weed smoke.
here’s a girlfriend with a boyfriend
rolling joints up in the morning
on the bed by open window
sunlight streaming through the curling
silky grey and white and swirling
from the ember to the ashtray
undulating upward cascade
follow the weed smoke.
carpenter stands under awnings
sawdust falls like stardust
smoking dove-tail joints
the sun is going to die
the sun is in my stomach
so i curl up to die
with the sun

this man died with the sun in his stomach
follow the weed smoke.

weed has a strange effect on my stomach, so it closes up and my digestion completely seems to stop. when i smoked weed i never got munchies, and i’d often go long times without thinking about food. i think this is what the sun in the stomach talks about. (in this poem i am one of the 3 boys, the others are all characters i felt i knew). i tried to turn this into a song but i haven’t made it work yet.