April 1998 / Volume One /Issue Two
Dave Gerstle
Smoked Out

they love their world.  touch and feel alive,
inside,   outside,   and  within  their calling.
their  headlights  flashing,  so  wasted.

cold  hands pressed  to colder plastic,  this
midnight,  so like any other  midnight,  see
all   broken   faces,   helpless   or   not  so

lifted  from  slime  and  rock  to live  under
sun and fun and  who  could ask for more?
their  world,  my  world,  is a  cold  world,
in a tight bikini.  watch it bounce.

watch  the wings,  they  blur  the vision of
all  who survey.  they are in  heaven.  they
are angels in  heaven and  god  bless  them
all.  yes.

smell   the  girls,    their  hair  like  banners
for a better time. see me crawling, smoked
out.  leave me here.
Back  to April 1998