Sticks & Stoners.

It's about me.
I see the letters
but the words
I cannot distinguish.
There's an outbreak of light
bringing the warmth of the morning sun

Illuminated beneath the windowsill
edged by a moment's brief reflection
I see the dare ice coffee bottle
with the garden hose stem protruding out
the golden rim cone piece, ground into a bucket cp'.
and the ounce of pot divided into aluminium foil
sticks, fifties & quarters.
Home delivery-esque' bud
prepped n' packaged on the kitchen bench
the dearest sat far from all else..

..and in the dragon's golden bowl
are not it's eggs, nor it's young.
But dragon's bones and a chronic mix
are shining in the day-break.

My altered being escapes the warm confinements of his bed
and I blaze on until noon.
I've forgotten who I am, again.