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Moosehead.

Drawing on a
ginseng
cigarette.

Stinking hot
drag after
stinking hot
drag.

Pacino’s
making moves
on TV.
A holy Italian
hero like
DeNiro or
Marciano,
cut but
knocking
them over.

People need
their heroes.

Bruce Lee
to kick our
flabby
backsides.

Ali floating
and stinging.

Lennon
giving peace
a chance.

Someone
to believe in.

And some
need movie
stars and
singers,
players,
tricksters,
freaks,
writers,
fighters,
even friends.

Something
to aim for,
aspire to.

I have a
green bottle
half drained
of fluid.

I’m scratching
at the page
trying to save
my tired soul.

I’m scratching
at the page
wanting Bardot
to blow me.

That’s all.

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