New poem by George Held

Acid Peace

On the slope of Mount Wai‘ale‘ale,

World’s wettest spot,

Kamalu passes out the blue caps

While we covet the last tokes

On our blunts, and rain

From Kauaian skies

Tattoos the tin roof

Of that folk star’s warm house

Well after midnight.

Swallowing the cap,

I look up at the smoke

Wafting to the ceiling

And nestling there

Where I will soon

See the shapes of demons

And then feel the floor

Collapse and let me freefall

Into the earth’s core.

Sensing my panic,

Malia, in purple velvet gown,

Begins to play her guitar

And sing heavenly songs

In no tongue, just her ethereal

Voice and perfect timbre,

And Puana hugs

My shoulder and says in my ear,

“We are all one, Bra’,

“We are all in harmony

With the akua, the gods –

We are all one, Bra,’”

And I look up into the smoke

Swirling on the ceiling

And I see that the world

Is good, and I hear peace

In Malia’s soothing voice

And I feel safe, saved,

Until my flight brings me down

Next day in cold, gray San Francisco,

And I know I have to let drugs go . . .