not to die, "Irie?", but don't call
it poetry neither
memoirs are for men who only remember
too afraid or old to do any more
snuff out an ember, 'tis enough
journals all burn the same way
in Pasadena you can smoke
until your eyes don't work
and drink until your knees quake
with friendly faces from
Boston, DC, Claremont or Colorado
--and you can go all night
you can be the wisest of all
because Ralph's is only a
two, not five, block walk
and you can spill your cans
on the floor
until the door
locks
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