brain-trouble

we sat and sipped
our bowl of hair
there

i think about juice
you think about new jack city
we think about
it's fresh

slim winds blow our
mouths astray
six pack of scissor light
empty and crushed
our foreheads bruised

aching sun sets behind
a wall of information
could not think straight

and there we left our minds
in a smoking pile
covered in failure
the future awaits
tiny and uproarious
and still

that was why i was hot,
earlier