paka the 42nd

i trudged through the mud to
pick poppies for your grave
and abandoned zen when she
no longer served her purpose
these days i’m rocking
it like rimbaud
but you’d be proud because
no matter how broke i am
i can always find somebody
to spot me a scotch and water
when i lit off to california
you slipped cigarettes
into my pack and
fully supported my shaved head
when it made me into a pariah
knowing full well that
i wasn’t meant for
small town gossip
we set off for the big city
to give me a taste
of my destiny
now i memorialize your memory
while no longer
knocking on heaven’s door

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