Tokes under the moon

[Kerbonzo_beenz]

The pickled ferryman
cracks his brittle bones
rowing with a long wooden spoon
through callice sepia tones
on a saturated piece of driftwood,
whispering quiet moans.

Whisking down corkscrew rapids
and ejected into a still cave stream.
he takes me to his liquid world
inside a hazy dream.

Lying on my back
I watch strings of lightning bug lights
flash like little spark plugs
igniting the dark night.


We slowly drift away from 
the warm candescence 
to gaze upon an abyssal sky
adorned with only the moon.

The raft brushes ashore
where my brother 
sits smoking.
While I underestood
his chicanery.
I never knew of his toking.

I got to be on his island
for just a day--

and that's the closest
I've ever gotten to him.