Ham.

A midnight cruise with overbearing weather precautions
Is forced by lack of enthusiasm.

Fog rolls its heavy, tangible concepts, and the ocean
Imposes its comfort in the impossibly dark streets.

A careful turn wrecks Germany's pride in the
Wasted beauty of Autumn. And the angry

Green thorns that rise and eat away at my frozen,
Tired, alert, numb, and petrified flesh.

Raw energy and countless attempts lead to pigs-
Rushing to the momentous, drawn out scene.

Fear surges both our stomachs as we wrestle
Our way out of the filthy night sty.

A lone man, victim to the Ganja Queen,
Himself identifies with the parade that we lead,

Not a follower to see, and lends both Time
And Power to the confused prisoners of

Fate, mechanics, and half-truths.
In seven hours time, we arrive sullen,

Exhausted, lethargically awake, and guilty.
Splash in the waters that you're asked to drown in.