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 stripéd 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'm sworn to toke no other
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!

 

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