pipe eulogy: bowlympia

My dear bowlympia --

you spoke to me before you smoked for me. this little head shop in olympia, place of your conception. I looked for twenty minutes, and nothing. so I listened - I stopped looking - and I heard you. you were perfectly made, shaped, and priced. cobalt glass with green and gold stripes. with specks of real gold. but nothing gold can stay.

my brother made this, said the head shop owner when he picked you up. youre kidding! I said. you were such a labor of love, and i loved you. you didn't even need a screen.

I'm sorry I left you at that party last night. I didn't mean to. it had nothing to do with that other glass I was carrying with me. it was just a one hit thing, it doesn't mean anything to me. I don't even know its name.

bowlympia, I'm truly sorry. when I took you out today, picked you up from that coffee table, and said to you, and to ryan, 'oh bowlympia I'll be so said if and when I lose you. dont you hate that? how everythings ephemeral?' these are the daily conversations I have that jynx me. I'm so sorry, I didn't even know it was a curse.

you met your demise on the fucking stairs of the campus center, you just leaped out of my bag, like a dog running into the street, not knowing how those linoleum stairs can hit you like a semi. You, perfect in every way and a precious treasure I brought back from the west coast, getting killed by my messy purse and the weed-unfriendly campus that you graced with your presence.

this is a wake up call. I need to straighten up and leave this place. thank you for having your final act be one that opened my eyes. thank you for everything. especially the resin.

I'ma see you in weed heaven.

oh no

oh hey.

what?
you want me to write a poem?
oh jesus, it's been another day hasn't it
well. I'm boycotting.
this isn't a poem.
nopenopenope

when you take off the first n
everything is open..
I just thought of a word

nopen

its like a contradiction
not open
or something
I'm never not nopen.




ugh.
I'm wasted.
not even the wasted I was earlier
just wasted on sunshine
long day
of seeing people I care for.


I run my brain through laps
drowned it in smoke
hookah. tokes. cigarettes.
ooh, nat shermans with a touch of mint.
shut up.

my synapses need refurbishing
cracked at the corners
paint peeling
making connections
to the best of their ability
with no help from me.

smoke deprives your brain of oxygen, you know.
the terrible habits I pick up.
jesus.

deer in headlights is a good look for me

smoke going up
darkens the ceiling
I have a feeling
that we're both alone

wash out my head
let me forget
the words I said
respond, regret

I traded love
for lack thereof

to show that I know
that I should
be alone

I would grow
to my toes
all my hair
and not care

I feel light today

my pores opened up last night
and breathed in cigarettes with cloves
liquor with deer blood that ran through my body to my toes
past the prickly chemicals that got in there too somehow

and in my orange floral dress they remain open
soaking in the first warm day in april
trying to recollect conversations and cure a hangover
staying still, walking slow

slumped up against a concrete wall I peel a clementine
a parting gift from somebody
and my fingertips soaked in the sticky sweet rind resin
revealing insides, opening doors that weren't there
until my fingernails demanded them to be