the karaoke dying down,
I snuck out to bum a
cigarette off my Senator shouting
obsenities while the
last train pulled away
somewhere nearby

the old-dirt cowboy stood grinning
in his sharp pressed shirt and stetson,
which hid his gleaming white hair

he was somehow floating
slightly above the ground,
full of dharma, saying to me
"What's important is the Joy

That
Is
Why
We
Are
Here"

then he took a drag on his Marlboro, burning
it down to the filter, and inside
a whiskey drunk bodisattva
was singing for the lonely