I didn’t get
stoned enough
listening to Bukowski
doing a reading
and I toke
on a bowl of green
and contemplate
burning a bidi
and I imagine myself
being a bigtime poet
and I visualize myself
prancing before
the pretty college girls
and I imagine their adoring looks
knowing I always
hit well in this park
and I think
of the accolades
and the glory
Oh, it could be so sweet
if I only make it so
with these words
I pass off as verse
go into work
avoid the churches
and hit a brewpub or two
along the way
sip that beer;
toke that bowl;
listen to the music as it plays
my fame is a joke
I sit alone
in a dirty room
with beer
and cheap incense
burning; lightly
filling up the air
the fantasies
don’t translate well
into reality
the paycheck
& the credit cards
don’t fill me up
with very much awe
It’s just a bit more
of the same thing
as another night
rolls into another night
morning will rise
before I’m ready
It seems some things
never change with time
just not the ones
that you want to be
still the same