Our Aspirations

I saw through a room with eternal smoke
And a few jokes between truth
that in youth dulled serious statements
about death.
The scene fit the news.
Brown water and rocks in its own transparent world
that he, like a god, drank from
in between creating clouds
and worlds with the most beloved characters.
I heard about him from friends
who worship him.
I can’t begin to fathom being such a god.
Though isn’t that what we aspire to?
Me and you?
It’s blasphemous practice
though we don’t admit it.
This is our goal,
to trade our soul,
for abuse and inspiration,
brown water and cancer sticks,
traveling parties and ladies turning tricks
because love can’t be found in our free time.
Unless she’s close.
Extremely close.
No one would approve
and though your work be sick
your life should be soothing.
But that isn’t us.
Even if it is in us you trust
to reveal trust
entertainment and proof of some philosophical thoughts,
images that most wouldn’t understand
or bother to try.
And hated in life
we are loved when we die.


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