Time To Show Up

We're going down in her grandma's black
cadillac, everytime we become branches.
We are becoming dangerous already

like a rhino, not easily offended.
We were the lost crayfish, the fruit
of dark magic earth in our gills.

The youth on drugs. Deeper and deeper
partners, it smells like opportunity, in the pelican,
pale stork of the moment. Our only major fail

that trip was when we went to the pharmacy.
She answered someone's personal ad with gepetto's
oath: wood is bondz. Tasty smoketreats, delicious anniversaries.