Bores

It's been a long weekend from which I don't remember a thing.
Vanilla candle rum, christmas lights dangling in our hair, sex-
on-the-beach incense flowing like water
And the Billie Holiday record, flipped over when it ended, again and again.
"WELCOME TO OUR FUCKING MANSION!!!"
Rooms and rooms and beds and couches; a place for all.
Come In!!! all my friends.
Scotch to wash down Cuban cigars over conversation concerning
Socialism; wearing shades at night.
Just subsequent to sitting on the free couch in that neighbors front lawn (awful flower print), smoking through hacking lungs, and our familiar passer-by's stopped in to warn us of the cancer sticks, then to accuse us of supporting big bussinesses
"Smoke cannibus instead!"
Concluding their visit with and invitation to watch the documentary film explaining the economic crisis of 2008.
We stopped by later instead, to watch the heroic film of an overcome speech impediment through cursing and shouting about tits.
then finished with the field walk where the air turned our universe.
The stars shined more beautifully and orange cats appeared.
Glassy-eyed and tearing with paranoia and laughter we fell into our rooms.
our worlds spinning as Billie Holiday told our tragic love affairs through hers.
This was our whole universe, this moment, this time, the clock had stopped for this second.
the dimn lights, the burning candle flicker, the Christmas lights doing a salsa dance with the fragrant incense air
and hers was our voice that lulled us into our dreams, with Jimmy Neutron screaming in the next room.