I can’t remember what I was going to write about.
Waking dreams and memories feel the same as reality now.
The joke was that I’m a narcoleptic,
You know, before I went to the hospital.
His dad would say it.
It’s not like he’s a doctor or anything.
Can’t sleep. 5:15 am and I, smoke cigarettes like a little piece of
daytime, or sunshine,
Or a stick of nons … incense on a burial pyre.
Which hand should I smoke the next one in?
Will I flip it first, or smoke the flipped one,
Or just pick one up at random even though it’s so clearly!
upside down?
So, see, if I’m feeling lucky, or maybe needin’ some luck or
just plain down on it
I guess you could say I gotta do somethin’
Bout it.
I scratch where it itches right
I crack my neck
Loosen my jaw
Feel it all
Light the cigarette
Breathe
Want to crawl away back to bed now but this poem waits for
me there it’s
neverending
it isn’t over
it isn’t over
it could’ve been
A long, long time ago and, many, well a few times since.
About a handful you might say?
Idk which hand though.
Survival of the fittest right?
Only I could be strong at 11 and fallen to my knees at noon so,
Who knows what time death will prey on me today?
I guess you could say I’ve been,
Lucky?
You know what I mean, man.
Right when, right where.
Always hits ya when ya need it.
So here ya go.
