Born to the Purple
by John Granacki

I was born to The Purple 
          of the Pakistani Kush
     and the cloying skunky sweetness 
               of the Indica Blue and Green
and the pileated redness
          of the sacred Sinsemilla
     and the girted golden glory
               of the true Columbian breed!

Cannabis! O Cannabis!              
What colors will I see
when I look into the bag 
my dealer's bringing me tonight?
And when I take a righteous bong-hit          
and my world goes softly spinning
what kaleidoscopic chaos
              will come dancing in my light?
  

Keep your barmecidal No-Stone
  don't you bring me any bunk!
    I don't want no crummy dirtweed
nor any harsh, brown, border-brand,

and if there's naught to smoke but home grown
  then I hope it's from the garden
    of a cultivating connoiseur
with seeds from Amsterdam!
 

Like the leopard-spotted spheroids
          of the purple Pakistani
     or the striped oblong ovoids
               of the skunky killer green
or the achromatic embryos
          of the wacky pacalolo
     or the dark-complected kernels
               of the true Columbian breed.

For I was born to the purple
          and I will not toke another
     than the finest herb superb
               as should befit a King or Queen!
Give me sticky, stinky reefer,
          all encased in crusty crystals
     adding sparkle to my colors:
          Red and Purple, Gold and Green!