Poem for Norman Greenbaum

First off,
about fucking time.
This is an opus.

Let me raise my chalice to you sir.
Let’s sing like back in the day.

Let me casually conceive of a good line or two,
because you made my youth a little more slender,
slick, and sly.

Let me congratulate your rhythm on exhausting my
limbs ability
to rap a tap tap.

Let me crack you a quiet beer
under a pillow
we have elders in the house.

I’ll crack you something frosty like
a hitman takes out
a pillow gagged victim.

Quick, and without regard for human life or love.

Quick let me set another game along the ledge of us,
our time is so short it hurts,
but I prefer this to nothing at all.



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