Tristan Robert Lange

the bogart

cannabis sits there

on this thin-veiled autumn night;

I think I will toke.

a long drawn inhale—

the smoke held within my lungs;

I let it all out.

within two inhales

I finish this hand-rolled joint;

the high takes over.

I then close my eyes;

listen, i’m not here to share

that which is now mine.

correct!—I will never share

the thing that I have taken.

know that I will not be shaken—

by your lame pleas for pity.

think I can?—you are mistaken.

your ass is henceforth forsaken

and your end ain\'t gonna be pretty;

know that I will not be shaken—

this state shan’t be overtaken.

I can\'t be fooled, you\'re not witty;

think I can?—you are mistaken.

your fate has been undertaken;

i\'ve smoked your soul...tasted shitty.

know that I will not be shaken—

float in my brain and awaken

that I can’t forget this ditty—

think I can?—you are mistaken.

in due time, I\'ll have taken

more souls without any pity.

know that I will not be shaken—

think I can?—you are mistaken.

© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

First published on tristanrobertlange.com, November 14, 2026.

Tittu