this year,
i’ve met too many people,
i’ve let go of a lot of these people,
i’ve lost a lot of respect for
so many more,
i’ve given up on others,
not just me, myself and I.

I realized the reason
for my discomfort around him
He's never really responded to me
When I have said something it's like
I've spoken to myself, like I'm invisible, like my words can't be heard.
It makes me feel insignificant.
I don't like it.
So, now I know why I don't like to talk around him,
to feel like the center of attention cause normally I'm not.

Stocked up, locked up
In my sanctum *******.
Got *** and cigs and cheap wine;
For me that makes a quorum.
I hope no friend comes by
Acting all hale and hearty.
They're not inside a moment
Then they call up Dial A Party.

Then suddenly my place
Plays host to all the bums
Who have nothing else
But the strength to come
And just sit on my couch
And then eat up all my food
Drink all of my *****
While slurring words like “Dude!”

Now, I'm not anti-social
But I am not Donald Trump
Who has plenty of cash
To entertain these humps.
If they only brought something;
A six-pack or some ****
I'd find an excuse for them;
Some lame reason or need.

So, these days I read
And keep the stereo off.
I don't turn on the lights.
Hell, I don't even cough.
I hide out in the bedroom
Just me and Sam *****,
Seriously reconsidering
The kind of friends I've made.

An otherwise normal day.
Sitting on the bus, in the back,
People watching as usual.
Coffee drunk, a day to attack.
I wanted to see what happened
So, I worked up a huge yawn.
The yawn went around the bus.
Once all did it, the yawn was gone.
I did it often, totally on purpose.
Just a thing I do to amuse us.

I saw in a movie a man stopped
Carefully looked up into the sky
It stopped the foot traffic that day
They looked up too, I had to try.
I stood on the corner the next day
Down on Twelfth and Main Street.
Firmly I stood in the madding crowd.
I looked up, and they did as well,
And things quickly got quite loud.
It was amazing how quickly it swelled.

The yawn thing works on the job
If you want to give it your own try.
It works on desk mates, bosses
And even on people passing by.
The looking up thing also works
But bosses come and get strong
And stop your foolish game by
Saying that you should move along.
They don’t know what you’re doing.
They just know it has to be wrong.

A small single apartment
That is all I really need.
The result of low ambition
And a paucity of greed.
A kitchen for cooking
A comfy place to sleep
Just great for meditation for
Thoughts that don’t go deep.

It was close to my buddies
That good old gang of mine
I go there, they come here,
As long as there was wine.
I was serving jug wine
And vintage it was not.
I had to switch to *** when
My stomach started to rot.

I also served cheap beer,
The cheapest I could find.
Between the wine and beer
It’s lucky today I’m not blind.
And food was also frugal
Mostly chips and salsa hot.
Stoners aren’t that choosy.
Gourmands we were not.

Of course we all had our own
Personal marijuana stash.
Its quality depended on
The amount of available cash.
But one of us was a dealer
Or sometimes there were two.
They always brought a supply
To sell, that’s what they do.

We laughed and roared and
Someone always had a guitar
It is nineteen seventy two
And that’s how conditions are.
Some of us had jobs back then
But most were floating around.
It’s hard to be a stable soul
With no feet on the ground.