I am sitting here,
blowing the smoke
of killer flowers
pretty paisley petals,
drinking strong beer
bubbling backyard brew,
transposing a column
from days forgotten,
listening to Neil Young
sing “Old Man”
into my headsets
while my young wife prepares
chicken parmigiana
and watches re-runs
of Grey’s Anatomy.
And I remember
our earlier conversations
about chameleons
and nom de plumes,
and this voice comes through
this voice comes through
the maze of haze.
Imagine God
sounds just like me.
And He says,
and he says
“You are exactly who you are
pretending to be.”
And I thought,
that means I am right
where I want to be.
Right where I want to be.
I am
who I am.
So, that calls to question:
Am I really really sick
or am I really well?
“That’s a very good question,” my shrink wrote back. “You are a man of many hats.”