The Place I Used to Live Forever

I used to find it funny, Chelsea boots,
     crushed velvet, leather pants,
and one more payment always due—
     the false extravagance
of day-job bohemia. I wore it well;
     I wore it with panache.
I hoarded it like old LPs
     or a stoner’s secret stash.

As tactics went, it wasn’t quite Sun Tzu—
     the archers faced the sun
in a . . .
. . . . . . .
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