Disquietude Anathema

Just thought I’d rest my tired mind, and my weary eyes
Indulge in respite hits from my shitty gas station pipe
Dear Calc would understand if I needed a quick five
(and thus commenced the advent of a long, hazy ride)
Spiraling down, from that renowned Eden they say is on high
Melting shades and hues, keep folding as they float idly by
My gaze, is raised
To the way the images crease and change
They split and shift along the x as they revolve about y
Oh wait--I’m high—too high
C.f., I’m baked out my mind
I.e., derivatives seem to be
Far too beyond me to find
E.g., that’s not even what this question’s asking me to define
Ergo, conclusion: yes, we can, Obama
But not at this time—
I'm slowly arriving at the distant realization
That I’ve smoked a lot more weed
Than would behoove my concentration
On the pages and the problems they contain
To my frustration--
Though this is no deviation
From the norm, nor aberration
And now I really want all that hazy sedation
A premium variety of figurative haven
Despite the priorities
That are prominent
And blatant
Snuffed
By my inner
Underachiever—
Not so latent
Just give me that low-eyed elation
I can’t hold my liquor
And no funds for medication found on pharmacy
Shelves
And soccer moms across the nation
I can’t judge but the superior
Drug of choice
By my discrimination
Is my weed