Three candles lit in a lamp hung from the ceiling.
Two love sacs sit to paint community more appealing.
One hookah pipe split amongst friends for our healing.
Countless smoke filled bubbles built by our breathing.
We each sink down into a bean bag chair.
Caught in a snare. The ceiling we stare.
For the flames of the candles put on for us a show.
The light reflected above reflects the flux and flow
Of the ocean I’d wade in and its waves I’d ride slow
Down to the shore line without a surf board below.
We found beauty buried amidst the mess of Skid Row.