The Stoner’s Ball: A Poem

The Stoner’s Ball

This party is not a dry run:

We trek full on off-road down

A riverbed in vintage

Campers with names Like Lola,

Betty and Betsy Allegro,

To meet the vanboy with a monster

Set up on a scrub of patch land

In the middle of a vineyard.

*

This party is not a dry run:

We arrive with packed pockets,

Pills, powders, and pre-prepared potions,

Mama coca and sister crystal,

And decades of vinyl burned onto

Hard drive, hooked up to jumbo

Decks pumping Grunge Swing

And Deep Techno with dusty vocals.

*

This party is not a dry run:

We learned not to give a fuck

On a dank dance-floor,

And about what matters in life,

The simple things: sunset, sunrise,

A dirty beat, and seeing God

In the face of a friend

Lit up by the flash of strobe lights.

*

This party is not a dry run:

We are brothers, sisters, cousins,

Tipping the fatal line together,

Till synthesis sweeps through us,

Tunneling a thrilling transcendent

Reconciliation with self:

Bam! We are part of the cosmos,

And dancing till our feet bleed.

*

This party is not a dry run:

We are awake and carved to pieces

We are cut open and undisturbed,

A voluntary sojourn into the abyss;

Earth-chasers in the zone in between

Life and ecstasy, our minds and blood

Synced up, in rhythm, limbs imbued

With mystical consciousness.

*

This party is not a dry run:

We used a red disco ball to light up

The sky and replace the sun,

We could dance for a thousand nights

And then dance a thousand more,

Living the high life twice because

We didn’t know we were crafting

Memories – we were just having fun. 

By Tasha Kerry (c) 2021

Listen to the audio version of this poem put to deep house by DJ Julia Tamzyn. For maximum listening pleasure use headphones and spark up 🙂