Asleep in the Grass

I have a feeling that the night is going to be young and I’m sipping red wine. It chimes as we cheer and we pass around a bowl of “cherub”. It’s an organic spin-off of nyope (nī-ō-pē), an epidemic in Africa. They roll ganja, heroin and crushed HIV meds together in a joint and smoke. I like to use opium, marijuana and Bufo Alvarius venom in a bubble bong. It’s safer and it gets you high; It gets you low; It gets you left, right and upside down. On a graph, with the axis x, y and z, we would create a moldy bubble like the mushrooms kids kick around. Suddenly you’re high and the wine is hard to reach. You want to drink, the flavor and smell is inviting, but you have to burst your bubble. Sometimes you just get too high, and the orange night with the TV on and with the rag laid out, the pier lit up with mosquito tiki burners, the wine bottles half finished, just has to end early.