People try to intimidate me, but really can’t touch my inner mystery. We put things first like,

family, our foot (left or right),

or maybe even a person who comes through the door at the same time as you but does it matter?

The wind is cold but sometimes hot; we put two and two together and understand but sometimes

not.

Cold feels froze, it feels heavy, but it smokes. The smoke is louder then, the Kush

That is blown from his mouth,

How do I know, because the smell is oh great, but not good but who am I to hate.

The wind blows so fast coming out moves slow,

Like the wind on a summer day that hits your face but is at a steady paste the thickness of a smell

can stay longer then a stain

But higher than a plane because that’s the way the wind blows. A cold wind is clear unlike a

mind because we have the ability to learn

and never forget what it’s called, a cold wind.