WHISKY & TOOTHPASTE

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

 

slick

pink

eyelids.

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WHISKY & TOOTHPASTE

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