Knees are on my mind almost constantly these days.
I admit to an obsession with the joint.
I admit to an obsession with sex.
I admit to an obsession with drugs.
Yes, these and others –
My wife, my dogs, women with accents and overbites, my psychiatrist…
Last week I became an old man. Nothing to do with age.
I just decided to be old because I want to let go of unimportant
things and focus on what matters, sex, drugs, dogs and this angel
who continues to haunt me despite my depravity,
or as she said yesterday at the beach, “I will love you forever.”
The sun’s glare off her white wings almost blinded me.
The sweat glistening on her brown skin,
the rivulets of angel essence between her breasts,
pooling on her six-pack abs. I wanted to drown in her.
I’ve been thinking about the original hippies and their magic bus.
Given another chance I would stay on for the whole ride.
I let their influence wane as I chased other peoples’ dreams.
That changes now that I am an old man.
I only care about my dreams – sex, drugs, ending world hunger.
That’s not facetious. I am dead serious about all three.
What’s left of my life will be spent in the quest for
mind-altering sex, the magic in mushrooms, and food,
more food than people can eat, more than they want,
we’ll make casseroles and every day will be potluck.