351/365

one halloween
living in new york
in my late twenties
i grew my hair out
with a ramshackle beard,
found leather pants and aviators
stuffed a pillow in my shirt
and stumbled around the city
as the fat jim morrison.
mr. mojo risin:
sick of dour faces
staring from the tv tower.

we were both so
wanton in our boredom
old and tired
at twenty eight.

twenty years later
staring down forty eight
no need for the pillow,
hair mostly white.

it’s hard to believe he died
at twenty eight and here
i still am: looking for
purpose. what was
that promise that you made?