_“In this land of dopey dreams, smiling, hoppy-headed scenes, where the
Chinamen are smoking all day long; as I lay me down to sleep, hoppy
visions o’er me creep, then I hear the snow-birds sing this evening
song: Tam, tam, tam the coke and morphine; I can hear my mother’s moan;
underneath the starry flag, we must take another drag, and return some
day to our beloved home.”_
_Yep, Whiz Bang readers, here are some more selections written by a dope
fiend, the first of his series appearing in the January issue. From the
standpoint of human interest towards the unfortunate victim of the drug
habit, his poems are mighty interesting. Furthermore, they point a strong
moral to lay off the “junk.”_—THE EDITOR.
Tonight I lie in a filthy room,
Reclined on a bamboo bunk,
With a bamboo pipe and lighted pot
And a deuce-spot smeared with junk.
For when I feel downcast and blue,
Down to the dreamy Chink I sneak,
Where I can “hit the hop” and slumber,
Forgetting the weary world a week.
Passion’s fire now barely smoulders,
Dope has led me far astray,
Still I think of the one who left me
A year ago on Christmas Day.
My love for her has never left me,
And I know it never will,
Even though I’m a fiend to dope
And a slave to the hashish pill.
But here I lie in a suey-bow,
With another night half spent,
With a pipe and a card of poppy mud
And a hop cook from the Orient.
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