ahh... the art of getting away from the crazies

lying here on the top of this hill
the middle of this cemetery
orion to my right
the lobster i saw
one stoned night in a golf course
to my left
a cigarette smoldering in my
left hand, third one of the night
im here, away from plato
from socrates, from schmidt
when i sit up, i can see the lights
of jackson
culvers is there, though i cant make it out
without the help of my glasses
i am relaxing, the pain draining
from my body the way it did
that one day, in the band room
a strange symbol etched on my hand
i lay there in that cemetery
shivering now from the cold
rather than the anger
a cemetery that means so much to me
no one i know is buried there
but it doesn't matter
my cigarette burning down to the filter
i stub it out in the snow i sit in
one last farewell to orion
to my big dipper lobster
i take the short trek to my car
back to socrates, to plato
to avoid schmidt
and no one probably noticed i was gone