Proustin’ in my dark, cork-lined venue.
readin’ “La Recherche du Temps Perdu.”
Like him, I stay out of inclement weather;
to the indoors I’m incessantly tethered.
Ain’t many writers that I’d rather read when
movin’ my eyes over lines—a slew!
Groovin’ on these works is my purview.

Both men lived in the land of Gay Paris,
and Proust, it is said, lived his life gaily.
They used drugs to treat sickness…as a treat
abusing substances both men did do,
feelin’ better when having a few.
Both smoked op. dope.

I keep the sun from my window most days;
light from the lamp over my shoulder plays.
I admit: I’m influenced by their ways…
finding my ectasty…opium next to me.

Losin’ myself, puffin’ in my room,
readin’ “La Recherche,” “Fleurs du Mal” too.
From mouth smoke blows.

Groovin’…Marcel et Charles.