Ninety-three: Good Times Gone

I’m sitting on a blue spinning chair and I’m slouching but then,
spine sore from sloth, I stretch back, spreading my ribs, as if
that’s all it takes to take the smoke out of the cave of my chest.

I sit and I spin and I stare at the gold coils from last year’s party.
I’m smiling because I’ve never seen seen them this way before.
Sometimes, upside-down reminds you to remember the obvious.

I sway between keeping the memories stuck to the ceiling but then
perhaps it is time to let go, let it flow away from me. They’re so pretty
but it’s sad to see half hang, flacid and sad, signs of good times gone.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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