in another life,
Vernon was a psychodelic minstrel
like Devendra,
and in that life,
I was a writer
with it all together,
and a love for truth.
in another life,
she would have stuck it out
and fought harder,
instead of letting
the wolves of the world
take me to be raised
by cocaine and clocks.
in another life,
I wouldn't be as hard
as concrete on summer chins,
and I wouldn't know about
love and loss like this,
and the pain and passion
that come with each, respectively.
in another life,
I would have kicked the infatuation habit,
along with the booze at the beginning,
just as long as Long Island laughed
and Kentucky danced in stairwells
where hope howled like the aforementioned wolves,
but tame.
in another life,
I wouldn't have know this life,
and I am okay with this one,
and hopefully there is another
and another, more Francos and more Erics,
less let downs and more build ups,
but what the hell who cares, because
I am here and teleportation doesn't exist;
you know what I mean.