I want to go sit somewhere up high

and smoke a cigarette,

the quiet relief of being the first person

to exist outside of space & time.


I want to become old

and eccentric,

without being outwardly considered to be

old, or eccentric.


I want to go laugh alone on a tall hill

or in a low valley,

and relish the obvious fact

that I am the funniest person alive.


I want to go lie on a roof

above a buzzing city;

a position in which it wouldn’t be too presumptive

to festoon me with CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS.


There, on my back, I will stare

at the stars,

until their image is cigarette-burned

or indelibly magic-markered


onto the insides of my






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