"Bum District" | New poem, 2026/06/21.

Warm morning sun
strokes my joint
I raise up
I stand tight
I count the Indu smokes

There's a sullen aftertaste in the
cloudburst eyes
of my girl

She stands upfront in the middle
of the sunlit razor edge
of sky
I am not prepared for this color
but she sparkles it
infinitely
above
my thunder

There's a road I can't take
trapped in the wheels
of my car
traveling south from the southern point
to reach the furthest
north

What kind of an expedtion
needed to part
the clouds from the sun and the morning
and light up another joint
in the face of all deities
and losers

I am bum district
there are no colors
above me