Christopher Poindexter

Aged people are nothing but grace to me. I watch them in the park and the bars

baptized by the glow of their years.

Once I have grown too weary to sit down and  enjoy their stories,

reduce my body to ash.

I don’t want to live anymore if the simple things fail to intrigue me- the smell of the new air in a new place, the falling in love with a total stranger for brief seconds,

the  smile of a bald boy named Killy

wearing a shirt that says “fuck cancer.”

These things are the true drinks,

the true drugs.

The things we must worship.


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