Take A Little Trip With Me

I don’t mind your drug full eyes
any more than I mind how cloudy
the steel of my own brain becomes
under the threat of smoke. I am 
no hypocrite. I prize the undue mix
of clarity and deep confusion one needs
to get by in this climate of insult and 
anger. You have to get ripped up like
a wrecked paper crane, unfold your awareness
in pieces on a desk, try to reassemble it;
if you need a chemical to make the glue stick,
use it.  You need an herb or a pill, burn it
or swallow it.  A clear head can mean different things
to sane people now and then, and now
it might mean survival to let it go. I do not mind
your sweet muddle, your gentle fog,
for the same reason I do not mind my own. 
I cannot embrace the world today
without acknowledging how illogical
one must be to do so.