Tripping on Knights (Pandemic Weed Poem III)

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Third week on Blue Dream   a knight

under a tree   thick sandy ponytail

swooping out his helmet like syrup

a curling hologram  shimmering spindrift  

so weird I stop tripping   why

would I see a knight    I expect my high

to be fractal and relevant   chill

not ancient and colonial  I fuck off

to my computer to find grandpoppy

in the microfiche   in all the brown names

that have crimes and debts I find

grandpoppy’s father is a Sir   was knighted
Order of the British Empire

and it pisses me off so much that I know

how poor Poppy was   that the knighthood

makes nothing of him or him or him   or me

I am sick and haunted   can’t stop

finding long-dead men    the first

in my family to draw all the names

together   only to find our blood

is a little bit white   what the hell

does it matter   if I got a transfusion

we’d all still be from somewhere else

I just want to live   can the Queen

please give my family money  so I can buy

Maltesers and Ableton   not trip on knights please

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