I could get my nicotine fix
from the air in there
but still I sit to conquer
my fear of lighters,
I'm getting there.
this doesn't taste the same as
the last one

as many times as I've been leaning
up against log cabin walls
doing native dances
I never caught the visage
of a Chief getting head
from his favorite squaw,
his eyes closing toward the
moon I didn't see
giving praise to the gods of
sky and orgasm
a thousand years ago he shot his arrows and seed
but they cooped him up
and he died out.

Smoke follows Beauty, they say
and as Lucky Strike signals cling to my hair I wonder if in this place
it's true

something's changed from there to here
the jukebox sold out but the records remain
the cult boys come and talk to me
and I have to laugh at my admiration,
no longer comfortable in the colors I'm wearing.
Sharing a peace pipe dream with Jim Carroll
imagine the last time he's been here,
and I know that an addict
is branded for life

I can't ride in the faster lanes
even wild horses get passed on the highway,
streaks of palomino and red pinstripe
running on the empty side of half my life
Will I be better when I'm older?
light another cigarette.

I go about things from twisted angles,
and I don't mind so much.
I can drink all the fair trade coffee in the world
and I won't get any freer,
it won't get any fairer,
I won't leave here with anything
I didn't have somewhere before
I know this and I always knew
that Enlightenment's just when you unlock a door
and take off a sweater vest inside your head

The Fuzz makes conspicuous ruckus outside
and I feel like a raspberry tart again
at least I knew I served a purpose,
now I'm not so sure

killing time
building silver ladders,
waiting for another stanza
to give itself away

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