I aspire to be the stoner

in the room.

To be the guy with the ripped jeans and the Morrison

hair. Who nods and says, “Cool.”

Who says, “Works for me.”

Who says, “Sure, dude.”

And it might be 1977 or

could be 2050 but he has his eye

on some hot bod somewhere else and

he’s flashing a peace sign

and he’s leaving the building

and he’s making like water, like vapor

He says, “Catch you later,” and

“American cigarettes taste like Florida.”

The world can smoke neurosis now,

smoke your striving.

Like a doctor, his first vow

the Hippocratic oath because this dude,

he will do no harm.923191_10151593913265829_1155839775_n

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