My Counterfeit Twenties: Round Trip

by twenty-five

I had acquired

more brass

than Yankee Stadium

traveling extensively

I lived

predominately

in the asshole of the world

seriously

armed with

slick threads

polished haircuts

five-mile cologne

cognac snifters

weak-minded players

white lines

brainless women with impeccable toenails

and

a

fat

wallet

constantly fronting

a gold chain mentality

that I defended

with the virtuosity

of a concert pianist

yes – the lonely miles . . .

the harrowing psychic terrain

all nothing, really

compared to

the terrifying excursion

back

to

earth