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	Threads: 409
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		Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 23
Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for the month of November. 
Topic : Write a poem about or inspired by a drug experience-- recreational or prescribed, real or imagined.
Form : Any
Line requirements: Eight lines or more
Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish. 
Questions?
	
	
	
	
		
	
 
 
	
	
	
		
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	Threads: 225
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		2 years before covid
I became too sick to work.
For two weeks my fever
Was 102 degrees.
I went to the emergency room twice.
I didn't want to overdo it
So I'd take two Tylenol
Twice a day, then three times. Four.
They tested for several viruses.
X-rays on my chest.
For two whole weeks, 
I was the only one at the store.
If I wasn't there, no one could do it.
There's no products on the shelves,
Just dogs that have to eat.
It probably ate itself up,
I was eating piles of kimchi,
The doctors couldn't help
No one else caught it
But I can't take Tylenol anymore.
	
	
	
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
	
		
	
 
 
	
	
	
		
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		Laid off by the pandemic
he’d applied for three jobs that week
and texted, “I deserve to get ducked”,
huffed some poisoned Xanax
and got so f**ked he never woke up again.
The fentanyl came from China
to lace the fake Xanax made in Mexico
that flowed into Texas, that killed
without warning.  The medical examiner
held the pill packet in his hands
while he explained the impossible,
implied the unendurable, 
and said he was sorry.
	
	
	
	
		
	
 
 
	
	
	
		
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		I made it all the way
from Electric Ladyland
to where I am right now
by magic, sleight of hand. 
Accidentally, on purpose,
I got from there to here;
mistakes below the surface
don't ever disappear:
some just never left, 
some keep creeping back;
I just take another breath,
and another after that...
	
	
	
	
		
	
 
 
	
	
	
		
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	Threads: 466
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		11-24-2021, 02:11 AM 
(This post was last modified: 11-24-2021, 02:14 AM by RiverNotch.)
	
	 
	
		Pythia
My high school friends often thought
I was high on shrooms,
E, marijuana -- the works -- my brain went
so quickly on such distant tangents
I might as well have been spouting nonsense. 
Perhaps I was speaking in tongues, an adolescent 
prophet for the age of hypertext, 
photoshop, deepfake -- the works -- until we were tamed
by Sertraline or the Twitter feeds
I half-knowingly anticipated, take your pick.
	
	
	
	
		
	
 
 
	
	
	
		
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		11-24-2021, 07:30 AM 
(This post was last modified: 11-24-2021, 07:34 AM by Tiger the Lion.)
	
	 
	
		Too Trippy for Me
Whenever Dave did acid
he'd pull the full
Bill Bixby and morph
into something monstrous.
The night he threw the brick
through the cop shop window
we all scattered like shrapnel;
his underage girlfriend and I
rode the bus in circles
till we were straight enough
to go home.
By the time I got her to her door 
it was getting light
and the birds had long been at it.
She kissed me
on the side of the mouth
and apologized for everything.
	
	
	
	
		
	
 
 
	
	
	
		
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		Delusion-sized
On the occasion
of multiple surgical
wisdom-too extraction
one received a drug
the name of which one fails
to recall.
One’s only recollection is
that at some point one looked
at one’s hand
and was unable to determine
if it was quite near
or very far away but
enormously large.
One supposes now that
wisdom of a sort had leaked out
unstoppered by the teeth
and had not yet returned.
Perhaps under such influence
one might purchase for example
a suspension bridge under
the impression it would fit
in one’s pocket.
	
 Non-practicing atheist
 Non-practicing atheist