cycling on back/ weaning from the teat of many colours

not only are they markers
they are magic. making the mark
that magus made wise
a crackling hedonistic
scented fruity a bouquet partly mine, child
now i question the wisdom of encouraging our youth
to sniff aromatic OH! ketone and ambient benzene ring
but hell, it was the 70's, we were all supposed
to be dead by now. or rich. or something AND
there was a war that made no sense to us but none
really do, do they?
those war things
over there
funny it's the major sniffers making foreign
policy now with their stood up, grew up
and started killing again like field fallow turnover
i love human nature in the colours of the rainblown fallout
from oranges and lemons those bells of saints
drawn on the floor prone belly down like entrenched soldiers that were nothing more than
kids
themselves