one

he had a worn out lobster shell,
that he was shedding,
once it became too rigid.
a poker face,
a well-groomed Ego
and the folding chair.

died many times in his life,
but didn’t meet his death,
yet.

usually sat,
wearing a homburg hat,
petting a Persian cat,
smoking pot
transcending his thought
into the empty spot.

he always reminded me someone.

one

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