It’s wrapped inna bit o’ rizla
A bit o’ brown an’ powder
Thrombosis circulatin’ vapour
Cuttin’ veins, piercin’ paper
Pellet o’ poison, pot o’ luck
Toddlers on ceilings
That kinda stuff.

Unlatchin’ double sheets o’ glass
Tumblin’ out crossed layers of air

Un-envelopin’ an’ developin’
Crematin’ exposure, valves interior
Crushin’ dust, penetratin’ souls
On a rush witness, lightnin’ nodes
Past stone starin’, lack o’ carin’
# A.i.n.’t. n.o. s.u.n.s.h.i.n.e w.h.e.n s.h.e.’s. g.o.n.e #
No man dem sharin’.

Combobulatin’ institutional grace
A speckled reflection of inner space.